


True Colors

by Khirsah



Series: Patron Gifts [3]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: All others minor, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, LGBTQIA+ camp, M/M, Teddy/Billy and Bucky/Steve are main pairings, Young Avengers - Avengers fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2018-09-20 19:53:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9510437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khirsah/pseuds/Khirsah
Summary: Growing up queer can be tough, even in New York. Lucky for them, there's a place upstate they can go every summer to meet new friends, let loose, and know they are not alone.Welcome to Camp True Colors.OR:The LGBTQIA+ Marvel summer camp fusion no one realized they were missing.





	1. Billy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mrs. Underhill](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Mrs.+Underhill).



> Song is True Colors by Cyndi Lauper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incredible cover by redemsi! Please check out their work at redemsi.tumblr.com
> 
> Just so there's no confusion: Steve, Bucky, Natasha, etc. are all roughly the same age as the Young Avengers. In most cases, they are maybe 1-2 years older. Clint and Coulson and Nick are slightly older than that.

  
**But I see your true colors  
** Shining through  
I see your true colors  
And that's why I love you  
So don't be afraid to let them show  
Your true colors are beautiful  
Like a rainbow.

  


_Do it_ , Billy thought. _Just do it. Just walk right up to him and say something._

It was the last day of school. All around him, kids were shouting out to each other, laughing, joking around, promising to keep in touch. The final bell of the final day was still echoing through the halls and a whole summer of freedom was stretched wide and golden before them.

Some of them would stick around the city; some of them would head off to places unknown; some would take up jobs bussing tables or bagging groceries; but all of them would be out of his life for weeks—months—and _this was his last chance_.

 _Do it_ , he told himself, biting his lower lip. _You promised yourself you’d do it before the year ended. It’s not too late. It's not—_

Teddy Altman glanced over as someone called his name and Billy shrank back against the locker bank, heart racing. He felt like such a creep watching as Teddy laughed at whatever his friend said, waving him over. The way they bumped shoulders—casual, easy, effortless—made his stomach curl into tight knots. The way sunlight poured through grimy windows to catch on golden hair made his entire body quake.

It just. It wasn’t fair. Teddy Altman’s face, smile, eyes, _everything_ , just wasn’t _fair._

Wearing his Varsity basketball jacket and pair of comfortable-looking jeans, Teddy was almost too beautiful to be believed. Shining and golden and and and somehow different than everyone around him. _Better_ , a part of Billy whispered, though he tried to banish that thought before it could take root. No one was intrinsically better than anyone else, and yet watching him grin—dimples flashing, _oh God_ —it was hard to remember that.

It was hard to remember anything when he was staring at the boy he’d been crushing on for over three years…even earnest promises he’d made to himself to come clean and come out and finally just _do it_. Just tell Teddy how he felt.

 _This year_. He’d promised he’d do it _this year_. Funny how fast time flew by when you were taking shelter in your own cowardice.

“Hey.”

Billy startled at the voice so close to his ear, banging his elbow against the lockers as he straightened and nearly dropping his armful of notebooks. He winced and glared at Tommy, who just laughed—the asshole. “Hey _jerkface_ ,” Billy muttered, jostling against his brother with his non-injured elbow. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Nuh-uh.” Tommy reached out and plucked the books from Billy’s hands, holding them away when Billy made to grab them back. “We’re not leaving until you nut up and tell him.”

“What—stop that,” he sputtered, but he could feel the flush creeping up his cheeks already. _Damn it_ , caught. “What are you even—Tommy, give those back.”

Tommy darted away, graceful and laughing and stupidly fast. “Sorry, nope, can’t. You made me _promise_. What was it you said?” He pressed a finger to his chin as if in thought.

Billy glowered. “Eat shit and die?”

“I’m _pretty_ sure it was something closer to, _if it looks like I’m punking out_ like a little bitch _…”_

“Well, I definitely didn’t say _that_.”

“…then it is your sacred duty as my better-looking twin to make me go through with it. So, consider this me doing you a solid.” Tommy danced back another step, carefully out of reach—and growing alarmingly close to the knot of basketball players.

Billy straightened, heart in his throat. Wait, no. No, there was _no way_. “Tommy,” he protested, stumbling forward in a panic. No, no, no, there was no way, no _way_ Tommy would do this to him. “Wait, what, don’t, what are you—”

Tommy tilted his head, one brow lifted as if to say _you’ll thank me for this later_ (which was a LIE; Billy would thank him for this _never_ , oh fuck, this couldn’t be happening) and turned to dart toward the group of jocks. Toward _Teddy_.

“Hey, think fast!” Tommy called, tossing Billy’s notebooks, comic books, various papers and odds and ends and oh shit shit shit, just, everything, into Teddy’s startled arms.

“What,” Teddy began, catching everything against his chest because he really was that talented.

“Give this to my stupid brother, will you?” Tommy called, sailing down the hall and through the open doors into sunlight and freedom, the absolute _worst_ brother in all existence. “Thanks!”

For the first few, panicked seconds, Billy actually considered making a run for it. If he ducked back into a classroom, or hid behind a water fountain or something… But then Teddy’s searching gaze found him standing there, rooted to the ground, and it was too late. It was all just too, too late. _Oh God_ , he thought as Teddy said something to his friends before detaching from the group and heading over. _Oh God, oh God, oh my God_.

But even through the wave of panic, Billy couldn’t help but swallow against the flush of _awareness_ just looking at Teddy inspired in him.

With his pierced ears and ready smile and athletic body, Teddy was like every guilty teen fantasy come to life. Staring at him from across the cafeteria was one thing, but it was even more of a gut-punch seeing him up close. It was _worse_ having those eyes on him. They’d shared classes for three years, changed in the same gym dressing room, were paired for the occasional project. _Three years_ and Billy never could seem to keep his cool when those blue eyes fixed on him—bright and friendly and intelligent and curious, now, as he jogged across the rapidly emptying hall to join him.

Billy shrank back against the lockers, breath caught in his throat. His heart was beating so loud it nearly drowned out Teddy’s first words.

“Hey, Billy. Uh, Tommy wanted me to give you these?” Teddy lifted the bundle with a single arched brow; the messy pile looked somehow smaller in his big hands. God, he’d always loved Teddy’s hands.

 _Do it_ , a part of Billy whispered even as he numbly reached out to take back his things. _Come on. You promised. You promised this year was going to be different._ “Thanks,” he said.

_You promised you’d be honest._

Except, what did that even mean? Being honest? And if he tried, what was he even supposed to say? _Hi, I’m gay and I’ve been in love with you from afar for pretty much forever?_ He’d be lucky if he just got punched in the face.

Teddy wasn’t even—

Teddy wasn’t—

It was just—

He _couldn’t_. He just. Couldn’t. Couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk this crush that on really bad days had been the only thing keeping him going. Couldn’t risk being out and having someone like Teddy pull away from him in disgust.

Being honest wasn’t worth being hated; not by Teddy.

Right?

Fuck, Teddy was saying something. “…this summer. Do you have any plans?”

 _Getting as far away from New York as I can_ , he thought, gripping his pile of books tight against his chest. _Avoiding mirrors forever. Never looking myself in the eye again. Coward coward coward._ “I don’t know, just, stuff. Camp,” he said. _Fuck_. He had _promised_ himself he’d get this done before _camp_.

“Yeah? Which one?”

Admitting _which one_ would be just as bad as admitting the rest, and for a split second, he was tempted to do it anyway. Probably Teddy had never heard of True Colors, but, hey, maybe he had. Or maybe he’d go home and look it up out of some kind of lingering curiosity—not that Billy ever took up much real estate in the other boy’s thoughts but, hey, whatever, _maybe_ —and realize Billy was going to some kind of camp for queer kids. And then he’d put the pieces together and realize that Billy was, um, anyway, and Billy would have come out without ever having to say the words and—

And shit, the seconds were ticking by, long and increasingly awkward, as Billy just stood there _staring at him_ instead of answering. Teddy’s brows knit in concern and fuck fuck _fuck, mayday_ , he needed to kick his brain in gear and answer _right the fuck now_ before Teddy realized what a complete freak he was and never ever talked to him again and—

“I’m gay!” Billy yelped, way too loud, everything he wanted to say and everything he was afraid to say getting mixed up like mush in his brain. He jerked a hand up as if to clasp it over his own mouth, but it was too late for that. He couldn’t take it back.

Besides, once the words were out ( _what the hell, what the fuck, oh my God what the fuck_ ), it was like he didn’t even want to stop, like he was drunk on the sheer relief of finally saying it after a whole year of trying to get the words out—which was the _only_ explanation for why Billy sucked in a breath and practically shouted in Teddy’s startled face:

“AND _I’M KIND OF IN LOVE WITH YOU!_ ”

Teddy rocked back on his heels, eyes _wide_. The still-emptying hall went dead silent.

… _fuck_.

“FUCK!” Billy shouted. And before Teddy could gather himself up enough to respond (to laugh, or to punch, or even just to say _uh, hey man, thanks but no thanks_ ), Billy ducked around him and sprinted for the door.

He heard a voice call after him—

“Billy!”

—but he kept running, slamming out into the newly summer sunshine. It was blindingly bright, the air hot and stinking of exhaust, the blare of traffic and the rumble of the train just below the sidewalk bleeding into his frantically humming thoughts. He leapt down the steps, zigging past a maze of students as if he could somehow outrun his own embarrassment, desperate to escape.

“Billy!” someone called, and for one terrible moment, he thought it was _Teddy_ , chasing him out into the street. But when he glanced over his shoulder, Tommy’s face swam into view—smirking grin morphing into something more like concern at whatever he read in Billy’s expression. “Billy, where are—”

And he couldn’t, he just couldn’t right now. Billy spun on his heel and raced down the sidewalk—away from Tommy, away from Teddy, away from _school_ , away from the mess he’d made of his life. God, away from the _city_ in just a few days. Away from all of it, everything, his whole stupid self.

Just— _away_. He’d give anything to just get _away_.


	2. Billy

Tommy let himself into Billy’s room sometime after a tense dinner. He had on his most focused expression, jaw set in a grim line, as if he meant to tackle Billy down to the carpet and force a confrontation.

Billy barely glanced up from his suitcase, but his shoulders tightened. He…really didn’t want to do this.

“Look,” Tommy began, shutting the door and leaning back against it.

“ _Look_ ,” Billy echoed, folding a pair of jeans. “It’s nothing, okay? Everything’s fine.”

Tommy snorted. “Everything’s _not_ fine. You think I’m stupid enough to buy that line?”

“Yes?” Billy tried, and the look Tommy cast him almost made all this worth it. “Come on, Tommy: drop it. It’s nothing. And even if it wasn’t nothing, it’s not like it matters anyway, right? I’m leaving the city for _six weeks_. When I get back, no one will remember what a spaz I am.”

Which wasn’t exactly true. The halls had been emptying, but there’d been plenty of kids still milling around—there was no way he wasn’t the laughingstock of the half the school already. Gawky, weird, awkward Billy Kaplan literally shouting his feelings into hot jock Teddy Altman’s shocked face: that was going to be grist for the gossip mill for a long, long time.

Tommy pushed away from the door, moving to hover awkwardly near the foot of the bed. “Will you at least tell me what happened?” he asked, voice dropping lower. _Sincere_ , which, fuck; Billy didn’t know how to handle Tommy when he was being _sincere_. “Did he…say something to you? Do I have to kick his ass?”

That earned a startled, choked-off laugh. “I’d like to see you try,” Billy said before abruptly whirling, dropping his t-shirt to grab at Tommy’s arm. “That wasn’t a dare!”

“Dipshit,” Tommy growled, shaking him off. “I _know that_. But, what, so you’re saying Altman _did_ say something? And here I thought he was a halfway decent guy.”

“He is,” Billy said, then grabbed for Tommy again when it looked like his brother was all set to storm out and track Teddy down right then and there. “Wait, no, Tommy— _he is_. He didn’t say anything; I didn’t give him a chance to say anything. I just sort of freaked out and ran away.”

Tommy tried to shake him off again, but Billy held on tight, digging in his heels. He ducked when Tommy took a mostly playful swipe at him. That’s how serious conversations with Tommy always went: half battle, half actual connection, as if Tommy had to be wrestled to the ground before he was able to share anything of himself. It was exhausting.

(It was also, if he allowed himself to think about it, incredibly sad. Tommy’s foster parents had seriously fucked him up before Billy’s own parents had adopted him.)

“You’re such a stinking liar,” Tommy shot back, snagging Billy around the neck and yanking him down into a headlock. “I _saw_ your face, dude; that was not the face of someone who just chickened out and ran for—”

Billy dug his nails into a pale forearm. “Who…said I chickened out?” he muttered.

That was enough to make Tommy pause and loosen his grip; Billy squirmed free, kicking Tommy’s legs out from beneath him—futilely, as it turned out, Tommy easily shifting his weight from foot to foot to avoid him. “Wait,” he said, then laughed and pushed at Billy’s shoulder, shoving him back a step. “ _Wait_. Are you telling me you actually nutted up and admitted you were gay as a…whuzzat, tree of monkeys?”

“ _Gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide_ ,” Billy quoted dutifully before straightening with a sigh. “And yeah, pretty much. I also told him I was kind of, uh, in love with him.”

“ _No shit?_ ” Tommy whistled. “I can’t believe you actually did it. That’s…pretty fucking incredible, actually. How does it feel?”

Billy flushed. “To be out?” he asked. Then he shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know. Good, maybe. Or terrible? It’s kind of all a…” He gestured helplessly to his stomach. “I kind of feel like I’m going to puke, actually.”

“What do you want to bet you puke rainbows?” Tommy said as he flopped down onto Billy’s bed. He started poking around in his suitcase. “Billy, come on, you’re going to _gay camp_ : you have to dress better than this.”

Billy snatched one of his t-shirts from Tommy’s hands and flicked it at his face. “You’re such a walking cliché,” he growled, but the anxious roil of his stomach was beginning to ease. Tommy had been the first person he’d ever come out to. Despite their occasionally fraught relationship, he’d always felt like he could share that kind of thing with him. Maybe it was because they shared a face; maybe it was because they hadn’t been raised together yet seemed to click on every level. Maybe he was just deluding himself.

 _Whatever_. He might have wanted to take a swipe at Tommy more often than not, but he’d been able to come out all those years ago, stuttering and flushing and anxious-but-not-afraid. And Tommy had been…wonderful, really, pushing him to come out to his parents; his other brothers. To enroll in True Colors where he could be out to a whole _camp_ full of kids just like him.

And now…Teddy.

Teddy.

 _Fuck_.

Billy fell onto the bed next to Tommy, letting out a gusting breath. “I told Teddy Altman I was in love with him,” he said, sprawling back to stare up at the ceiling. He clutched the t-shirt to his chest, stomach twisting in strange, unhappy shapes. “Why did I do that?”

“Because you’ve got balls made of _steel_ ,” Tommy assured him, flopping back as well. He elbowed Billy in the side (gently, for once) and grinned when Billy turned his head to look at him. “Seriously. I can’t believe you actually did it. You’re fucking _out_ , Billy.”

“Yeah,” Billy murmured. Then, louder: “Yeah.”

So maybe he would be the topic of gossip over the summer. So maybe by the time school started back in the fall, everyone would know. So maybe he’d never be able to look in Teddy’s eyes again without wanting to curl up and die.

He’d done it; he’d come out before heading back to camp for the summer. He’d been honest and he’d been raw and now he was _out_ , and oh God, yeah, he totally wanted to puke…but he also couldn’t seem to stop grinning all of a sudden. Because _he’d done it_.

“Hey, Tommy,” Billy said, rising up onto an elbow. He could feel the smile stretching his face, wide and bright and just shy of manic. “I am _so_ gay.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and grabbed for a pillow, thwacking Billy in the face. “ _Yeah_ , you are. Now why don’t you get your gay ass up and pack some halfway decent clothes? Seriously,” he added, kicking playfully at Billy when he squirmed away, “how have you not gotten kicked out of gayhood yet?”

“I give _really_ good head,” Billy joked, and cackled at the way Tommy choked and sputtered, feeling inexplicably light inside.

 _Balls of steel, huh?_ Well, maybe, maybe not, but in this moment at least, he did feel powerful—and he was grateful enough to take that feeling with him to keep him going through the summer ahead, where he would not think about Teddy Altman. Not even once.

Not even a little.


	3. Bucky

Bucky dropped his bag on the curb and cupped his hands around his mouth. “HEY, ROGERS!” he bellowed up at Steve’s building. “GET YOUR SKINNY ASS OUT HERE BEFORE WE DITCH YOU!”

Perched on her own luggage, examining her nails, Natasha snorted.

He pointed at her. “Not a word, harpy.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Natasha said; she didn’t bother looking up. “I didn’t realize you’d taken up reading minds.”

“Didn’t have to.” He could just make out a blur passing Steve’s window (cracked, still, despite all the calls made to his ‘super; fuck, he had to get Steve out of that rat trap), blue-and-white-and-gold as the sun. Not that he’d ever say that last part out loud. There was pathetic, and then there was _pathetic_. “You radiate smug like no one I know.”

Natasha did glance up at that, one red brow arched. Her smile was slow and smirking. “Why Bucky,” she faux-cooed. “I didn’t think you cared enough to notice. In fact, I didn’t know you were _capable_ of noticing anything that wasn’t…”

“Here we go,” he groaned, turning away and lacing his hands behind his head, staring up at the cloudless summer sky.

“…wasn’t blond and blue-eyed and in possession of the tightest little ass this side of Brooklyn. _Hey_ , Steve,” she called, louder, while Bucky was still sputtering over a mouthful of air. “You pack your whole apartment in there?”

A door swung shut and Bucky instinctively turned as if Steve were his true north (God, he needed to stop reading so many romance novels; they were filling his head with all kinds of wrong), still coughing into a fist. His best friend stood on the cracked stoop in his sky blue jacket, rainbow strap of his bag thrown over one skinny shoulder. He looked between Bucky and Natasha with a slow smile of his own. “Well someone’s got to make sure the two of you have everything you need,” Steve said, taking the steps down. “Did you kill my best friend, Tasha?”

“Pfft, he’s fine.”

Steve dropped his bag next to Bucky’s and reached out, patting his back as Bucky caught his breath again. That hand stayed there, warm between his shoulder blades, even when he’d finally managed to clear his throat enough to say, “He’s going to live this time. You ready to go?”

“More than ready.” Steve rubbed a single warm circle that sent honest-to-fuck _tingles_ down Bucky’s spine before stepping away. “Is Clint meeting us at Grand Central?”

Bucky stumbled forward and snagged Steve’s bag before his friend could grab it. He hoisted it over his shoulder, ignoring Steve’s annoyed breath, then grabbed his own. A few paces away, Natasha slowly uncoiled from her perch, both eyebrows dancing in amusement. He wanted to say something—some point about how common decency didn’t mean anything; that Steve didn’t exactly need to be hauling shit around when Bucky had two perfectly good arms—but he bit his tongue and narrowed his eyes at her instead. She’d just laugh if he tried to say anything. He should never have admitted his thing for Steve was now officially a _Thing For Steve_. She was never going to let it be.

“…this time,” Natasha was saying. She reached into her purse and pulled out a pair of dark glasses, slipping them on even as she grabbed the handle of her rolling bag. “He’s met up with Kate and they’ll pick up Phil before driving up.”

Steve winced. “I hope they make it there in one piece. And still talking to each other.”

“Kate promised she’d take pictures if they started going for each other’s throats,” Natasha assured him. “Or dicks. One of the two.”

Bucky closed his eyes. “Can we _go_ now?” he asked, casting a plaintive glance toward the subway entrance two blocks down.

Steve lightly jostled their elbows together. “Roll on out, troops,” he said with a crooked smile, and Bucky smiled back because…well, because of course he did. The three of them fell into step together, Steve offering to take Natasha’s bag for her, Natasha distracting him with more gossip about Clint and Phil’s whole on-again-off-again crazy-making _thing_ , and the whole of Brooklyn coming alive around them. The sun was climbing high and hot; the intermittent breeze smelled of cooking trash and urine. A man standing cross-armed just outside a bodega lifted his hand as they passed and Steve grinned and waved back.

“Do you know _everyone?_ ” Natasha asked, mostly rhetorically.

“Yes,” Bucky answered before Steve could. He glanced over, grin twisting into something even warmer at the way Steve rolled his eyes. “He knows literally everyone in Brooklyn—and they actually _like_ the punk, too.”

Steve jostled his arm with one of those dangerously pointy elbows. “Who you calling a punk, punk?” he teased, and this… Yeah, fuck, this was good; this was great. This was _summer_ sprawling out before the three of them. Weeks and weeks of letting loose and cutting some slack and not having to be tied up with worry that someone might take a swing at his best friend just for being who he was. (Or that his best friend might take a swing at someone else for being a prick, which happened just about as often.) At school, around town, he had to keep a wary eye open, just in case. At camp?

Camp was different.

He could use a little relaxation for a change.

Spirits rode high all the way through Brooklyn. They pushed and pulled and teased and chatted with the ease of long familiarity until they passed over the bridge, statue framed beautifully in the golden light. Steve, dork that he was, actually stopped mid-sentence to turn and watch, as if he didn’t see the same damn thing every day. As if there was something impressive about the Statue of Liberty anyway. As if—

As if—

 _Fuck_ , but he looked good when the light caught in his hair, gilding him, making him shine. Bucky had to edge around, pretending to look toward Ellis Island too just so he could get a good look at Steve’s face, drinking in the brightness of his eyes. Bluer than any sky. Lips pursed, full, a little slick from the quick swipe of his tongue.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

Natasha started laughing even before the train passed over Chinatown and whooshed back underground. Bucky shot her a glare, but Steve just smiled, wide and disarming. “What’s so funny?” he asked, not at all bothered.

“You,” Bucky cut in before Natasha could say anything. He bumped their shoulders together to make it a joke, and Steve (bless his actual nice guy heart) just bumped back playfully—and that was that, even if Natasha couldn’t contain her smirk all the way through a train change at Times Square to Grand Central.

It was the weekend, but Grand Central was as crowded as ever, tourists moving like bumper cars through the main concourse—faces tipped up up up as they stared at the stars scattered across the ceiling. It took some doing to get _anywhere_ , much less get there fast, but Bucky elbowed his way to the front of the group and kept people out of there way best he could while Natasha and Steve followed in his wake. Their train was at the far end of the terminal (because of course it was), but they had a good ten minutes before it left. Just enough time to get into trouble if they didn’t watch themselves, which was why Bucky kept his head down and his gaze forward and didn’t even notice the kid until he was well past.

“Hey,” he heard Steve say somewhere behind him, “Billy, isn’t it?”

He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Steve peel away and head toward where a kid was standing by the route information sign, duffle bags at his feet. Dark, messy hair, skinny frame, red hoodie: unfamiliar at first sight.

The boy looked up, startled and strangely wary, but his expression melted immediately into a welcoming smile. “Hey, um, hi Steve,” he said.

Bucky huffed a breath and looped back around. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t miss the damn train,” he said, sotto, as Natasha passed him by.

“I’m going to hunt down Maria,” she said, phone already in hand. “Save you two seats.”

“Make it three,” he grumbled, eyeballing the new kid; Natasha just tossed off a mocking salute and headed in. Bucky watched her go, then sighed and adjusted his bags, jogging back to rejoin Steve. “Hey,” he said, looking between them. The new kid— _Billy_ —took an actual step back at the sight of him, as if he thought Bucky might take a swing or something. Which was stupid, but whatever, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know how he looked. “You on this train?”

_Translation: we getting on anytime soon here?_

Steve actually laughed, reading the impatient undercurrent. Billy bit his lip and looked away, as if that were a difficult question or something. “Uh,” he said. A red flush was creeping up his cheeks. “I, uh, I mean. Yes, in theory?”

He had both hands shoved deep into his pockets, body so tense he looked ready to snap at any moment.

“Well,” Bucky said. “The train’s schedule is pretty un-theoretical, so…” _Six minutes_ , his internal clock was screaming. Still time to muscle their bags on and grab a seat, but the flow of people pouring through the doors (including lots of kids around their age, looking everywhere from nervous to excited to defiant) was starting to thin. Time was winding down.

Steve cast him a quick, quelling look, and dropped a hand on Billy’s arm, as if they were old friends. “We’re heading to camp True Colors,” he said, not at _all_ shy about it. “You can sit with us if you want.”

 _We’re here, we’re queer, we’ve got no damn fear_ ; Steve really was the best of them. Bucky grunted at Billy’s startled look. He still couldn’t place him (which wasn’t too much of a surprise, considering the way Steve got around like a friendly bee determined to pollinate every flower he stumbled across), but hell, closet schmoset. “Yeah,” he said. “Lot of the kids getting on the train are heading that way. Lot of them are also heading up to other camps scattered through the area, or fuck-knows where else, so no one’s going to think anything of it one way or the other.”

He paused, thinking back to the first time _he_ had to work up his nerve to get on that train and head to LGBTQIA+ camp—and that was with Steve practically holding his hand. The memory softened his gruff tone. “But if they do, we make a pretty effective wall. If you want to take Steve up on that offer.”

Billy looked down, then away, then up at the ceiling as if taking strength from the stars painted there. He drew in a long, slow breath. “I sort of dramatically came out in the worst way possible already,” he said to the ceiling. “So it’s not like getting on a train is going to mean anything more, huh?”

“That’s not true,” Steve said, smiling when Billy looked at him again. “Every step means something. Especially for—”

Bucky was through being subtle. _Three minutes and counting_. “Hey, so, my bisexy ass is all here for this power of the movement talk—seriously, so you can stop with the glaring, Steve—but none of us are going to camp if we don’t _get on the damn train_.”

Billy gave a startled laugh, hands jerking out of his pocket. He was wearing a rainbow friendship bracelet, colored beads catching the light. “Okay,” he said, fumbling for his bags. “You’re right. Sorry, thanks, yeah, let’s—”

Bucky adjusted his own bags and reached out, plucking the biggest duffle from Billy’s hands—and using the excuse to grab the second bag from Steve as well. His muscles strained against his t-shirt, but hell, that’s what they were there for, right? “Yell at me later, Stevie,” he said, leading the way through the door and toward the train. It was humming with energy, practically chanting: _move move move move._ “We’ve gotta _go_.”

The slap of sneakers against concrete was the only proof the two of them were keeping up. If he were alone, or with anyone else, Bucky would have put on a burst of speed and gone for one of the far cars. There’d be fewer people crowded in and a better chance of snagging a good seat without having to shove his way through the narrow inside aisle.

But he was hyperaware, as always, of Steve’s weak lungs pulling in every breath, so he veered right into the first train car that looked reasonably roomy, dropping the whole pile of bags and slapping out a hand to cover the doorjamb, just in case the conductor got an itchy trigger finger. He kept on holding until both Billy and Steve passed through with a minute to spare—Steve’s cheeks flushed from even that short sprint, his breaths coming fast and rough.

Bucky dropped a subtle hand, knuckles grazing Steve’s spine; Steve immediately straightened and nodded once. _I’m okay_.

“Well that was briefly exciting,” Billy said. More last-minute passengers were sprinting by, pouring onto the train as the warning sounded. In his pocket, Bucky’s phone began to buzz. He didn’t have to check to know it was Natasha. “What now?”

Steve reached into his own pocket, checking his phone (covered in red-white-and-blue, because _of course_ ) before sliding it back. “Now we head back four cars to find our friends. You’re going to like them,” he assured Billy, slipping past Bucky to lead the way.

Billy glanced once, nervously, toward the doors before steeling his spine. “Yeah,” he said, following—hands shoving into his pockets as if to hide the rainbow bracelet before suddenly jerking out again. “Yeah, I’m, yeah, I bet.”

Bucky let them get a bit ahead, taking up the rear with most of the bags. All around them were people from all walks of life: kids heading out to summer camps dotted across Westchester and beyond, suburbanites coming back from a day in the city, tourists heading north and west and beyond the miles of Manhattan concrete. He spotted a kid he remembered from last year’s camp. Back then, she’d had mousy brown hair that she’d hid behind for the full first week. This time, half her head was shaved and she was laughing at something the girl next to her said.

Relaxed. Happy. Comfortable in her own skin—or at least close enough to count. It looked good on her. It looked good on _all_ of them. Billy, too, maybe, if Steve worked his charms on the kid. (Which, Bucky figured, was really only a matter of time.)

He began to grin to himself. “All right then,” Bucky said as the last warning dinged and the doors closed. The train rumbled beneath his feet. “Let’s go to fucking _camp_.”


	4. Billy

It took almost a full hour before Billy was able to relax.

It wasn’t the company: Steve was the nicest guy he was pretty sure he’d _ever_ met, and after he got over being intimidated by Natasha (who was obviously too cool for him) and Bucky (who was upsettingly attractive in that hot-jock way that kept reminding him of Teddy), they weren’t bad at all. If anything, watching them joke around together had gotten Billy to uncoil little by little, until he almost felt like he belonged.

(And wow, wasn’t that a crazy thought— _belonging_ with people like Natasha-and-Bucky?)

But despite how cool the three of them were, Billy couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. Or, no, maybe that wasn’t quite it; maybe it was more that he felt like he _could_ be watched, easily, if anyone bothered to look twice. All the other kids on the train looked perfectly at home slouched against dividers or perched at the edge of seats. They laughed and joked or smiled to themselves as they curled against windows and read, and they were all so _at ease_ that Billy was left feeling like the odd man out. Like…

Like the mere fact that he was afraid was all the more reason for fear.

He kept looking around even as Bucky, Natasha and Steve started gathering their bags, ready for their Westchester stop. Billy stumbled to his feet and started gathering up his duffels too, and it was astonishing how many of the kids all around them were slinging bags over their shoulders or reaching up to drag rollerboards down from the racks.

Steve leaned closer. “Yeah,” he said in a quiet voice, “pretty much all of them will be on the bus with us.”

Billy tried not to flush. “It’s…there are a lot of them,” he said, when what he was thinking was: _some of them look just like me_. But God, that was a dumb thing to think, wasn’t it? Because of course some of them looked like him, just like some of them looked like Steve or Bucky or Natasha or—

Or—

He wet his lips and followed Bucky as he elbowed his way out of the train, parting a sea of kids for the rest of them. Steve just grinned as he fell into step behind Billy, and the four of them made good time heading off the station platform and toward and waiting bus.

A part of Billy had been expecting…well, like, rainbows or shit. Colorful paint splattered everywhere, like they were climbing aboard Priscilla, Queen of the Desert. But the shuttle looked just like any other bus, with grey seats and scuffed floors and windows that hadn’t been washed in the last ten years or so. Only a small, subdued sign tucked in the bus’s front windshield told him they were in the right place at all:

_Camp True Colors_ , in big, bold font.

“C’mon, scoot in,” Natasha said, and Billy startled, looking at her. She offered a quick, wolfish grin and shook back red curls from her narrow face. “The boys are going to want to sit together, so it looks like it’s you and me, kid.”

“Is that okay?” he asked, setting his bags in the growing pile outside the bus before climbing in—nearly stumbling over the first big step. Natasha tossed hers casually, moving behind him with enviable grace. “You can sit with your friends if you’d rather.”

She just laughed and nudged him back when he would have snagged a seat toward the front, pointing to a raucous-looking group already gathering by the emergency exit. “You’ve already been adopted, Billy,” she said. “If you weren’t a friend before, then you are now. Where’d you meet the Captain anyway?”

He almost stumbled again, pleasure blooming in his chest. In that moment, the nerves fell away like water crashing off rock; he began to smile. Somehow, someway, he’d managed to make _friends_. Maybe camp with kids like him would be that transformative experience his mother kept promising it could be. “The Captain?” he echoed, sliding into the seat Natasha pointed to—just one up from a pretty dark-haired girl and a rumpled-looking boy in purple shorts. “Oh, you mean Steve?”

“We call him the Captain—Cap—because he’s sort of the unofficial leader of this merry band of idiots.” Natasha didn’t slid in next to him, instead choosing to stand with one hip leading against the seat. She pointed. “That’s Maria. Bruce. The blonde’s Thor—don’t ask. Clint’s driving up with his ex, Phil, and Kate, so he’ll meet us there. Nick’s one of the peer counselors this year, so he went up on his own, too. And that’s—”

The dark-haired girl— _Maria_ , Billy mentally filed away, desperately trying to attach faces to names—leaned over the back of his chair. “That’s Tony Stark,” she said. “And it’s my job to cockblock him this year, so don’t get offended if I scare him off when he inevitably tries to climb all over you; it isn’t personal.”

Billy blinked. “It’s your _turn_ to _cockblock_ him?” he echoed, as if it would all somehow make sense in repetition.

Maria grinned, sharp and fast. “Don’t worry,” she said, “he asked us to.”

“Even if he whines and claims otherwise _every time_ ,” Natasha added.

He twisted his head back to sneak a look at Tony as Maria and Natasha began to chat. The other boy was laughing just shy of too loud, gesticulating with one hand while he played with mirrored shades with the other. He was perched on the big blonde’s lap ( _Thor_ , Billy reminded himself), and while the sight of two boys sitting so close, so comfortably, made heat creep up the back of Billy’s neck, there wasn’t anything innately sexual about their pose.

And then, as if sensing Billy’s eyes on him, Tony glanced over to catch his gaze—and winked.

Billy whipped back around nearly fast enough to crack his head against the glass, cheeks flaming with color. He heard a soft laugh coming from behind him (Bruce, maybe), followed by Maria’s loud, “Oh no you don’t. Sit your ass back down; you’re supposed to be on good behavior today, remember?”

He couldn’t make out Tony’s reply, but then, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to. …right? Oh God, this was so beyond his realm of experience that he didn’t even know what he wanted. And to think, he’d only come out just a few days before, shouting into a startled Teddy’s face.

If he looked at it that way, it was almost cool he’d come so _far_.

Steve and Bucky slid into the seats across the aisle. “Hey,” Steve said, leaning past Natasha to smile at him. “You still doing okay?”

“Sure,” Billy said—and all at once, he meant it. He started to smile. “Thanks for taking me under your, uh, wing.”

Steve’s grin just widened, going big and sunny, broad across his thin face. “Hey, it’s nothing,” he promised, even though they both knew that wasn’t true. “Besides, I was just paying it forward. Sam took me under _his_ wing the first time I came to camp.”

“Sam?” He glanced past Steve to Bucky—Bucky, who was turning away to scowl out the window. Huh.

“Yeah, Sam Wilson. You’ll meet him when we get to camp,” Steve promised. The bus was getting so crowded—so loud—it was hard to hear him over the racket. “He’s one of the peer counselors, so he had to go ahead.”

_With Nick_? That had been the counselor Natasha had mentioned, right? Billy filed the names away, stealing another quick glance at Bucky (who was _still_ scowling out the window, chin resting on his fist, dark hair a messy snarl about the sharp lines of his face) before looking toward the front of the bus as the doors slid shut. A harried-looking woman stood by the driver’s seat, clipboard in one hand and whistle dangling between her breasts. “Okay, pipe down!” she called—then, when the noise didn’t drop, she pushed the whistle between pursed lips and blew, hard.

Natasha whirled around, flopping into the seat with a huff. Billy winced and fought the urge to clap his hands over his ears.

From the back—from Tony—came an answering whistle, quickly hushed.

“Keep it down to a manageable roar for the next ten minutes, yeah?” the woman said. She had a deep Long Island drawl. “Once I got your names, you can go nuts again. Is that a deal?”

She waited, as if expecting a response—a couple of kids called back, but she just waved them off with a crooked smile before starting down the aisle, taking a moment to talk to each kid and making notes in her clipboard. It wasn’t until she was finished—and had gotten them to pipe down a few more times, whistle ringing out shrill and sudden to drown out the din—that she made her way back to the front of the bus and slid into her seat. “Okay, then!” she called back, revving the engine. The bus rumbled to life around them, and Billy let out an unsteady breath, heart racing in his chest. _This is it; this is finally it_. “Hold on to your butts. Next stop, camp.”

“Can I hold on to someone else’s butt instead?” someone behind Billy called out, and Natasha rolled her eyes toward him with a crooked grin that invited Billy in on the joke—that made him, somehow, one of them. _Adopted_ , she’d said, as if just by getting Steve’s attention, he’d been baptized into this raucous group; as if he’d somehow found a place where he finally belonged.

His stomach twisted in pleasure, body practically throwing sparks…and Billy grinned back as the bus trundled out toward the highway, arrowing deeper into Westchester, the whole summer spread wide and open and free before them.


	5. Teddy

“Hey, Altman—think fast!”

Teddy turned, instinctively lifting a hand. He closed his fingers around the knotted-together bundle of bracelets just as it _thwapped_ against his palm; loose threads brushed his wrist as Nick smirked and jogged up to join him.

“Good reflexes,” the other boy said, adjusting his regimentally-crisp tie-dye shirt. Teddy’s own peer counselor T was untucked and painfully casual in comparison. “Sure I can’t talk you into switching teams? SHIELD could use someone like you.”

Teddy just smiled. They’d had the same conversation every summer since he started coming to True Colors. No matter what else changed, Nick’s desire to win at all costs was as reliable as the tides. “Thanks, but you know I always go Avenger.”

“Plenty of former Avengers in SHIELD,” Nick pointed out. “Plenty of former everything else, too. SHIELD gets the best of the best every damn year. It’s why we never lose.”

“Then you won’t miss me,” Teddy said, and softened the rejection with another smile.

Nick made a face. “Breaking my heart, Altman,” he said. “Just standing there breaking my goddamn heart.”

“I think you’ll find a way to heal.” Teddy jerked his chin as Sam came jogging up, arms full of clipboards, paper fluttering like a thousand whisper-thin wings. “Hey, need a hand there?”

“Nah, I got it,” Sam said, grin breaking across his face. He came to a stop next to them, playfully jostling Nick with a shoulder; the other boy grumbled and shoved back, friendly but just shy of too hard. “He trying to woo you away from us again?” Sam added, juggling through the heavy armload expertly.

Nick snorted. “There’s no budging Altman,” he said. “It’s fucking formality by this point. But hey, you’ve moved around in the past. You looking to make a switch this year?”

“Sorry, man.” Sam looked anything _but_ sorry to Teddy, ever-present grin playing at the corners of his mouth. “You know I’d play for you in a second if Cap wanted to make the switch, but Cap…”

“Cap’ll leave the Avengers the day sunshine starts shooting out of my ass,” Nick agreed, looking disgruntled but not offended. “You assholes take team loyalty far too seriously—you know that? This isn’t the eighth fucking _Harry Potter_.”

Teddy laughed. “May as well be,” he said. Then, at Nick’s silent glare, he added with a quirk of his brow, “Hufflepuff forever.”

“And here I always figured the Avengers for Gryffindor,” Sam mused before pushing a third of the clipboards into Teddy’s waiting hands. “But hey, man, speaking of Avengers and Cap’s crew…”

“I know,” Teddy said. “I already got briefed. We’re breaking the Avengers cabins down into sub-teams,” he added for Nick’s benefit. “We’ll still be scored as Avengers at the end…”

“And pull together for cross-cabin shenanigans like the big ole happy family we are,” Sam added.

“…but each sub-team will compete on its own, with mixed groups of veterans and newbies. Steve figured we were getting too big—there was no way some of the newbies would get a chance to shine if we didn’t split ourselves up.”

Nick just shook his head, visibly disgusted. “And distil your talent pool in the bargain. Steve’s bleeding heart’s going to take you guys down in the end,” he warned.

Teddy glanced at Sam, and both of them shrugged. “I’m okay with that,” Teddy said easily.

“It’s just camp,” Sam added. “No one but SHIELD _actually_ keeps track of who ‘wins’ anyway.” Then, with a wicked grin: “It’s not like there’s actually a House Cup, Nick; man, I hate to tell you this, but maybe you’ve been reading too much _Harry_ —”

Nick took a swipe, but Sam just laughed and sidestepped, taking his opportunity to push the largest of the three piles of clipboards into the other boy’s arms. “Maria and I are gonna take pleasure in kicking your ass this year, Wilson,” Nick muttered, shooting them both a baleful glare (mostly, Teddy figured, for show) before stalking away.

Sam whistled. “That boy takes macramé way too serious,” he said.

“Well, can you blame him?” Teddy lifted the bundle of colorful bracelets and playfully shook them at his friend. “Deadly serious stuff, camp.”

“Oh, _deadly_ serious.” Sam laughed, snagging the bracelets and quickly—efficiently—sorting them into a rainbow of thirds. He tossed the smallest pile back to Teddy, pocketing the largest group and pinning the third cluster between a pile of clipboards.

Teddy fished out a single red bracelet, hesitating for what felt like forever over light green before tucking away his sub-group’s third with easy equanimity. There was no telling how many newbies the Avengers would get this year, but Sam’s guesstimates were always scarily accurate. He slipped his clipboards under one arm so he could tie the single bracelet onto his wrist.

They were silent for a moment, each boy getting ready for the floodgates to open—but, as usual, Sam couldn’t let the silence stand. “You ready to three-way thumb wrestle Eli and Kate for leadership of…” He paused and cocked his head. “What did you guys end up calling yourselves?”

Teddy groaned. “Don’t laugh,” he said.

“You know I can’t make any promises, man.”

“…Nate decided we should be the Young Avengers,” Teddy said, ignoring Sam as he sputtered into cheerfully mocking laughter. “Because we’re a year down from you guys. You know Nate; he can be pretty literal. Anyway, Kate agreed while Eli was still too disgusted to protest—I think maybe just to spite him. Cap took it down before anyone could complain, and then we had to all get off Skype, so it ended up sticking.”

“The _Young Avengers_ , huh? Okay, _Junior.”_ He elbowed Teddy playfully in the side; Teddy just shook him off with a laugh. “Yeah, Kate ratified that just to piss in Eli’s Wheaties. Rumor says she may be making the shift to SHIELD.”

Teddy was shaking his head before Sam had even finished, gaze catching a glint of silver in the distance. “Clint’s spreading that around to get people riled,” he said. “She’s not going anywhere: Kate’s an Avenger through and through.”

“A _young_ Avenger,” Sam said just as that glint of silver solidified, emerging from the haze of sunlight on asphalt. “Bus ahoy.”

“I see it,” Teddy said. Other tie-dye-clad peers were pouring out of the administration cabins in small, bright clusters. He spotted Kate sandwiched between a scowling Phil and Clint, and winced in sympathy; she mimed shooting herself in the head. “I take it the ride up was a little bumpy.”

Sam grunted. “Not getting involved in all that,” he decided. “I’m gonna play this just like my momma taught me: stand back, let the drama unfold around me, grab the biggest tub of popcorn I can, and enjoy the show.”

“Your mother sounds an awful lot like mine,” Teddy said with a quick grin. Dust rose in a reddish cloud and a few of the adult counselors were coming out now to help direct traffic; finally, after long months of carefully keeping himself within the lines—of keeping the walls of his closet locked tight and restrictive around him—summertime was here at last. “Let’s never let them meet and compare notes, huh?”

“From your mouth to God’s ears. Hey, Teddy,” Sam added—voice gone serious, as if he could sense the tumult of emotions tumbling through Teddy’s chest. As if (as always) his keen empathy let him catch every damn thing.

Teddy glanced over, trying to look calm, unaffected—and completely failing. “Yeah?” he said.

Sam’s smile was so warm, so accepting, it felt like being swallowed in sunshine. _God_. No wonder he was asked to be peer counselor year after year. Teddy just hoped he managed to be _half_ as good his first year out. “Welcome home, man.”

Fuck. _Fuck_. Fuck, that felt amazing. “Yeah,” Teddy said, beginning to grin back—feeling the prick of what felt like tears against the backs of his lids. He blinked away the impulse, seeing the whole of camp True Colors stretching out behind him; seeing all of summer in its infinite possibilities.

Quickly, on impulse, he dug into his pocket for the colorful woven bracelets and selected a light green, knotting it around his wrist with the red before he could second-guess himself. This was his summer of no bullshit, Teddy reminded himself. This was his _chance_ to explore these hidden sides of himself with no one there to laugh, or judge, or find him wanting.

The first bus pulled up just as he was reorganizing his pile of clipboards, and Teddy pasted a wide, friendly smile across his face, ready to welcome campers both familiar and new back… _home_.

Tony was the first to come tumbling through the open doors, because of course he was. “…made me sit up front away from my crew as punishment,” he was already talking a mile a minute, million-watt smile widening even further at the sight of the peer counselors, the colorfully spangled tables behind them, the groaning counselors. “Said I was making a racket. Ha, joke’s on the driver: now I get pick of the litter. And I pick _you_ ,” he added, tumbling into Sam’s arms with a wetly smacking kiss; Sam just shoved him off, laughing. “Hey, gorgeous. Got some sugar?”

“I got something all right,” Sam muttered, smacking Tony in the chest with a clipboard. “You know what to do, man.”

“I know what not to do, too,” Tony agreed, snagging two of the bracelets—yellow and turquoise, the same as every year—before winking at Teddy. “Doesn’t stop me.”

Sam gave him a shove. “Go away; I’m working. I’ll play with you later.”

“Don’t make promises your girl won’t let you keep!” Tony called, but he headed off to fill in the final forms, waving playfully at Phil, who was doing his level best to ignore him. (Clint just waved back, before making some obscure, filthy gesture that had Tony grinning anew.)

The rest of the kids piled out of the buses in a more or less orderly fashion, and Teddy focused on pointing them in the right direction. The newbies were pretty easy to pick out; he wondered if he’d looked just like them, his first year—anxious and excited and visibly overwhelmed. He kept his smile fixed and friendly especially for them, answering questions along the way. Yes, they could collect their bags after they’d finished signing in. Yes, they should take the various forms seriously—they would help pick a team, which would determine their cabin for the summer. (And, of course, confirm the paperwork already on file about allergies, medications, preferences, and emergency contacts.) No (voice lowered in deference to the pitched whisper of the question), they didn’t have to tell anyone anything they didn’t want to. No (strongly implied if never said aloud, in response to the question he saw in those kids’ eyes), _not telling_ wasn’t the same as being ashamed; as being a coward.

There were no cowards here, where even stepping through those doors was an act of bravery.

He smiled when he spotted Natasha, grin slowly growing at the sight of Steve just behind her—and, of course, Bucky as Steve’s ever-faithful shadow, taking up the rear. “Hey,” he called, drifting over. He only had a handful of clipboards left. “Glad you could make it all in one piece.”

“Tony nearly made it in five,” Bucky muttered, shoving dark hair out of his eyes. He clomped down the steps, scowl as familiar as Steve’s crooked smile. “That punk is just asking for trouble.”

“He is. But you’re not going to be the one to give it to him,” Steve agreed. That easy grin morphed into a wicked smirk. “You’ve got to get in line for that. Hey, Teddy—I found us a new Young Avenger.”

“Yeah?” Teddy asked, ignoring Bucky’s dark sputter. Maria sailed past, clocking as many shoulders as she could, her own wolfish grin flashing as she made her way to Nick. “Who’s that?”

He was half-distracted by Bruce slipping past—by Thor cupping huge hands over his mouth to bellow, “O brother, where art thou?”, by Eli falling in behind him, sputtering something about them being a _young nothing_ —and very nearly missed the moment when Steve reached behind him to snag the sleeve of a (familiar) red hoodie, tugging a (familiar) skinny boy out into the forefront, (familiar) narrow face framed by a (familiar) wild shock of dark hair.

There was so much happy chaos, so much on his mind, so much joyful noise that he almost, almost, _almost_ missed the moment his eyes locked on Billy Kaplan’s for the first time since that shouted confession what felt simultaneously like seconds and decades ago—

—and felt his whole orderly, comfortably predictable summer crumble away beneath his feet.

“Oh,” Teddy said, sounding as if the breath had been knocked clean out of him. “It’s _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bracelets are a 100% voluntary, self-selected identification system based on something I experienced in my past. The colors refer back to at least one color on their flag. We'll get an in-story breakdown, but until then, the current colors are:
> 
> Gay: Red  
> Lesbian: Purple  
> Bisexual: Blue  
> Transgender: Torquoise  
> Pansexual: Yellow  
> Asexual: Grey  
> Genderfluid: Green
> 
> More will be added. There are some variations on the colors, too. For instance, Teddy picks out a red bracelet (gay) as well as a light green bracelet (questioning: genderfluid). Not everyone will have a bracelet, but I'll try to keep everything sorted in the notes.


	6. Billy

Billy froze, heart racing a mile a minute, brain stuck on an impossible loop:

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh shit,_

And,

_It’s him, oh no, it’s him._

He stared up at Teddy from beneath the dark snarl of his bangs, body tensing tighter and tighter as the seconds passed into eternities; he was a coil ready to spring, a Jack-in-the-box just waiting for the lid to lift, and oh fuck fuck fuck, it was Teddy, Teddy was here, Teddy was—

Why the _fuck_ was Teddy here?

“You’re not gay,” Billy blurted, without really intending to say anything. Without really being able to _think_ past his shock and fear. Would he ever be able to control his stupid runaway mouth around this boy?

Teddy, weirdly, flinched at that. He glanced over his shoulder toward where Bucky was looking back at them (Steve lost in conversation with someone Billy didn’t know and Natasha long-melted into the crowd), dark brows slowly lowering. He looked…pissed. At Teddy? At Billy? Oh, God, he couldn’t _tell_. “It’s okay, Bucky,” Teddy said quickly, reaching out as if to rest a hand on Billy’s shoulder and not—quite—touching. Billy’s breath caught in anticipation anyway, everything in him thrumming in strangled hope. “Misunderstanding. Watch my station?”

Billy watched, practically trembling in place as Teddy bent to toss most of the remaining clipboards aside, keeping just one tucked under his arm. He was wearing the tie-dye t-shirt with _True Colors_ emblazoned across the front, just like all the other…what, counselors?

That was almost too much to process. Not only was straight, perfect, gorgeous, unattainable Teddy Altman attending queer camp, he was helping _lead_ queer camp?

He felt like he’d been knocked heels over head, and the world didn’t seem to want to stop spinning.

“C’mon,” Teddy said, quiet—gentle, like Billy was a scared animal three seconds from bolting. He tipped his head toward the shade of a big tree. Oak? Uh, maple? Billy had no idea; the closest thing he saw to wilderness day to day was Central Park. “I think we should talk.”

“Oh no,” Billy moaned quietly, instinctively following where Teddy led. Nothing good ever came from _I think we should talk_.

Teddy glanced at him out of the corner of his eyes. “Yeah, okay,” he admitted, wry smile twisting his lips, “I could have worded that better. Still.”

_Still_. Still, yeah, Teddy thought they should talk. But the last thing Billy wanted was to talk. He wanted to _run_ , fast as he could go, straight back to that bus. He wanted to escape this place (with its unidentifiable trees and its fresh, cool air, and its swarm of students laughing and calling out to each other as peer counselors pointed them toward their cabins.) He wanted to go back to his safe bedroom in his safe brownstone in his safe Upper West Side neighborhood—or maybe, even better, he wanted to suddenly gain the ability to wind back time so he could start all over again. _Not_ come out to the whole school. _Not_ tell Teddy Altman he was in love with him. _Not_ promise to be honest with himself, or to come here, or—

“So,” Teddy said, casually sinking down onto the ground. His jeans had seen better days, knees lightly dusted with golden hair peeking out between frayed holes; Billy felt lightheaded with the sudden desire to reach out and _touch_. “This doesn’t have to be whatever Armageddon you’re imagining.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Billy said stiffly, standing there straight-backed and shivering between _fight_ and _flight_.

Teddy leaned back against the wide trunk of the tree, clipboard by his side, one hand lifted to shield his eyes. The sunlight kept hitting his hair, his skin, turning him golden. (Which was just fucking unfair and exactly what Billy’s hormones didn’t need.) “Okay. So you’re _not_ frantically planning an escape back to New York?”

Billy hesitated, swallowing back a little of the kneejerk fear. Whatever he’d been imagining when his path crossed with perfect jock Teddy Altman’s again, this certainly wasn’t it. “…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he repeated.

The smile toyed across Teddy’s lips again. “Sure,” he said easily. Friendly. He was so maddeningly _friendly_ —it gave losers like Billy hope that a shared Chemistry assignment could possibly mean more, if he only knew the right words to unlock the secret of this boy. (Like a puzzle in one of his D&D campaigns, and okay, maybe he needed to stop thinking like that and actually focus on the world shifting violently beneath his feet.) “I’ll go with that. Do you want to sit?”

“ _No_ ,” Billy said, contrary by reflex, even as he dropped to the grass. Teddy’s smile grew, and something inside Billy shook like the warning tremor before a quake. “What are you, um, doing here?”

“Are we talking philosophically? What is the meaning of life; why is this lint in my bellybutton? That type of thing?”

He scrunched up his nose. “If you have actual lint in your actual bellybutton, you may want to introduce yourself to the power of the loofah.”

Teddy laughed; he actually _laughed_ , and as always (on those rare, cherished times their paths crossed long enough that he could cough up the foot in his mouth to say something halfway intelligible), it made everything inside Billy curl up and vibrate with happiness. He started to smile back, though he didn’t—couldn’t—relax.

“Okay, I get your point,” Teddy continued. He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward a little—leaning toward Billy, which was enough to set his heart to galloping. “What am I doing _here_ , at True Colors?” Billy gave a faint jerk of his chin. “I mean…the same as you, I guess. I’m here for camp.”

“But you’re not…” Billy started to protest again, biting off the words before they could spill out. He felt like such an ass for saying it, over and over. It wasn’t fair, and he knew it wasn’t fair—knew he shouldn’t be going around denying shit like that—but it was so hard to reconcile everything he thought he knew about Teddy with the boy who was sitting here with him now.

Rainbows. He was wearing a _rainbow_ t-shirt, and had colorful red and green woven bracelets on one wrist, and none of the disgust Billy had been half-expecting was anywhere to be found on his open, _understanding_ face.

Billy wet his lips. “I _thought_ you weren’t,” he corrected, flushed.

Teddy shrugged a shoulder. “I’m only half-out,” he said, and even though all the evidence was adding up to Teddy being _not-straight_ , the confirmation was still like a punch to the face. “A couple of my friends at school know. Most of my online friends do, and, of course, everyone here.” He lifted his wrist to show Billy the bracelets, as if that meant anything.

“I,” Billy began, gaze dropping to the bracelets, then back up to Teddy’s face. He felt like his cheeks, ears, were bright red. He was probably immolating from the inside out. That was good. That meant if he fucked up this conversation, he wouldn’t have to live with the shame and angst for long. “I don’t quite understand what your mad friendship-bracelet-making skills have to do with anything, but okay.”

Again, Teddy laughed. _God_ he had the best laugh. “Sorry,” he said, dropping his arm. They were sitting just close enough that the sudden gesture nearly had his knuckles grazing Billy’s knee, which he was pretty sure would instantly kill him. _Touching Teddy Altman._ (But man, what a way to go.) “I’m going about this all ass-backward. It’s my first year as a peer counselor. Sam or Nick or Phil would be better at this.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Billy assured him quickly, just in case that was preamble to Teddy getting up to go _find_ one of the other counselors to take his place. “You’re doing great. Um, consider me peer counseled. Teach me, master.”

“Very well, my young Padawan,” Teddy said, somehow missing the way Billy’s heart exploded with sudden fierce joy; holy shit, how had he not known Teddy was a _nerd_ too? (No, no, he couldn’t assume that, right? Everyone liked Star Wars. It didn’t mean anything.) “Okay, let’s start from the very beginning…”

It took everything Billy possessed not to hum: _A very good place to start._

“I started coming to camp a few years ago. This will be my fourth year, actually. It’s pretty great—kind of a mix of all those stereotypical teen camp movies and, like, Percy Jackson. Except instead of arena battles, we have team sports and crafts and, like, counseling. Sort of.”

_Definitely a nerd_. He had to bite his lower lip to keep from saying something he would absolutely regret.

Teddy winced, misunderstanding his silence. “No, I’m explaining it all wrong. It’s not like _counseling_ , but like… Look, I don’t have to tell you how rough it can be sometimes. And there are lots of kids who have it really hard—and others who don’t, and that’s great, and it’s _all_ great, but being able to sit around and talk about the hard stuff and the good stuff in a place where no one is going to judge you is… This sounds corny,” he added, earnest, “but it can be one of the best feelings ever. To just _say the words_ can be one of the best feelings ever. And when you say them and people around you get it, and think it’s cool and not at all weird or, or whatever…”

He trailed off, shoulders slumping. “ _Seriously_ , Sam is way better at all of this.”

“It’s okay,” Billy assured him, fighting back the sudden insane instinct to reach out and take Teddy’s hand. “I get it. So, the uh, Percy Jackson part…” Billy prompted.

Teddy looked up again, expression wry. “Cabins are divided into teams. You know…Ares cabin, Aphrodite cabin, and so on. Expect ours are called stuff like Runaways, Avengers, SHIELD…”

“Steve said something about me being an Avenger?”

“Young Avenger,” Teddy corrected, and winced at Billy’s dubious look. “I know, I know. There’s a story there, which you’ll understand immediately the moment you meet Nate. But yeah, the Young Avengers are a subset of the Avengers. Steve figured it’d be better to shake things up cabin to cabin, with new kids and return members rooming together, just to keep things balanced and fair. Nick thinks we’re nuts for doing it, but that’s Nick. …you’ll understand when you meet him, too,” he added.

“I’m a Young Avenger,” Billy said, testing it out. It was silly, and it made no sense, and it should have felt all wrong, but… But for some reason, it just felt _right_. “Cool, um, okay. What are you?”

Teddy actually flushed—just a little, but dark enough that Billy caught it and braced himself for the blow that was coming. “I’m a Young Avenger, too. So, hey, I guess we’ll be sharing a cabin.”

… _fuck_.

He must have read some of the reflexive panic on Billy’s face, because Teddy added quickly, “No, hey, it’s cool.  I mean…it’s cool with me if it’s cool with you. What you said back at school—”

Billy covered his face with his hands, hating the way his entire body burst into mortified flames.

“—it doesn’t have to be a thing between us. I mean, I get it. Believe me. I really, really get it. I did something similar back when I first started to come out. It _happens_. But it only has to be as awkward as we let it, and…” Billy felt the brush of fingertips across the backs of his hands, there and gone again in an instant. It was meant to be a friendly touch—he could tell that much, even with his eyes squeezed shut—but it set everything inside him alight. It took everything he had not to tip helplessly into Teddy’s space, to greedily seek another brush of skin on skin. “I like you, Billy,” Teddy was saying, quiet. “I’d like to be friends, if you’re okay with that.”

_Friends_. Friends who shared the same cramped space, who were going to be hanging out together in the same close circles, who were going to be _telling each other things_ and, and swimming (which meant shirtless Teddy, which was just about the cruelest and best thing to ever happen in Billy’s short life) and and and—

“Yeah,” Billy breathed, because it didn’t matter if he was half-sick in love with the other boy. It didn’t matter if Teddy Altman was his first big crush. It didn’t even matter if he was going to spend the summer feeling like he was coming out of his own skin. He wanted to know him better. He wanted this…whatever this could be…to be real.

He dropped his hands. “Okay, yeah. I mean. For now, let’s just…not talk about it? And we can do the whole friend thing.”

Teddy’s smile was too wide and too dazzling to be real. “Cool,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows, close enough that Billy could see the light dusting of freckles across his nose. “You’re going to love the rest of the team. You’re going to love all of this. It’s…I know it sounds corny, I really do, but it _is_ pretty life-changing. Just…having a place is life-changing.”

Billy swallowed, a little overwhelmed at the thought. He’d been hiding this part of himself for so long; it was crazy to think that he was finally, finally somewhere he could relax his guard—could just _be_. “Um, so, okay. What does all of this have to do with the bracelets?” He pointed, noticing a few more half-tucked into Teddy’s pocket: a whole rainbow of colors and shades. “Are those Young Avengers colors?”

Teddy straightened, slipping a finger into the loop of his red bracelet and tugging it up. “No, no, it’s—it’s kind of a completely voluntary self-identifying thing. I mean, hey, queer camp, right? But there’s a bunch of different kinds of queer, and way back when, someone figured it’d be easiest to just wear a color-coded bracelet if you wanted people to know instead of having to do that dance of _should I ask, shouldn’t I ask_. So if you wear a bracelet, people know you’re okay with talking about it.”

“And…?” Billy prompted, eyes drawn down to the woven cloth. The red was bright, vibrant. By contrast, the green bracelet was almost pastel.

“This one, red, means I identify as gay,” Teddy said—and once again, Billy’s whole world went toppling ass over teakettle. He’d assumed—thought—hoped—that Teddy might be something like that…being here at True Colors and all…but the confirmation was nearly enough to send him jumping to his feet and sprinting away, overwhelmed by a complicated mix of fear and hope.

(Because even if Teddy didn’t like him back—uh, _like that_ —at least this longing building up in Billy’s chest wasn’t quite as hopeless as it had always felt. And wasn’t that part of why he’d wanted to come here in the first place? Not to hook up or whatever, but to know that he was finally, at long last surrounded by people like him. People who could get him, could maybe want him.)

“Oh,” Billy said, lips numb enough to make the word embarrassingly difficult to shape. He swallowed. “I didn’t…” _Know;_ of course he didn’t know. “Okay. That’s good. I mean. Awesome?” _Shut up, Billy._ “And the green?”

This time, Teddy hesitated—just long enough to be obvious. Billy tensed, looking up, but Teddy was staring at the light green bracelet circling his wrist, a faint frown between his brows, thumb running across the woven thread.

On impulse, Billy reached out to cover Teddy’s hand. He felt that same familiar spark of awareness, flaring into something fierce and bright when Teddy looked up to meet his eyes. For one crazy moment, Billy wanted to tip forward and wrap his arms around Teddy’s shoulders—to _hug_ him tight, and let him know… What? That whatever he had to say, it was all right? That Billy would be hopelessly in love with him no matter what?

Because _yes_ , all that was true, but he wasn’t about to go confessing it again.

“You don’t have to,” Billy began instead, but Teddy was already talking over him.

“The lighter shades mean _questioning_. If I was wearing a light red bracelet, it’d mean I was _questioning_ whether I was gay or not. Green is, uh, genderqueer. Genderfluid? You know,” he added, that flush creeping up his cheeks. “Not fully set on one or the other or—any others. Though it’s different for different people.”

Billy tipped forward, instinctively keeping Teddy’s gaze and not trying to shutter up to hide what was going on in his head. It seemed important, somehow, that Teddy know exactly what he was thinking right now. “Do you mean like trans?” he asked, voice relaxed and curious, non-judgmental. Fuck, he hoped Teddy knew just how non-judgmental he was feeling right now.

Teddy studied Billy’s expression for a moment, visibly surprised—then slowly began to relax back, smiling again. _Soft_ , as if Billy had passed some test neither had realized was being given. “No, not exactly,” he said. “I’m not specifically female. I’m just…I don’t know if I’m specifically _male_ either. It’s a little more fluid than that. It’s… It’s hard to explain,” he added.

“It’s okay,” Billy said, and he gave in to impulse and reached out to touch Teddy again—just a light, friendly nudge. A moment shared. “We’ve got all summer for me to learn, right? About that and all the other colors and—yeah.” He clasped his hands, one palm folded over a fist, and gave a teasing half-bow. “Thank you, Jedi Master.”

He laughed and copied the bow perfectly. _Nerd nerd nerd._ The joy of that kept zinging within the cage of Billy’s chest like hummingbirds. “You are welcome, young Padawan. Now,” Teddy added briskly, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get you signed in and settled. We’re having orientation in two hours, and you won’t want to miss it. The Phil-and-Nick show is worth the price of admission.”

“Okay,” Billy said, taking the clipboard Teddy passed him. It was bizarre how quickly his life kept turning around, again and again; he wondered what other surprises the summer would have for him. “That sounds goods I’ll just—Oh,” he added before he could chicken out or forget. In this moment, it seemed like the most important thing in the world to ask. “I was wondering if I could have a bracelet too.”

“Of course,” Teddy said. He dug into his pocket to pull out the whole rainbow—a rainbow Billy planned on learning _immediately_. “Remember, it’s completely voluntary. You don’t have to wear one—no one will think badly of you. Lots of people don’t.”

“It’s okay,” Billy reassured him. “I want to.”

Teddy glanced up, meeting his gaze. His eyes were such a bright blue, it was like looking into one of those sulphur springs: a prism of light. “Whatever you want,” Teddy said, in a voice pitched low enough to make Billy’s toes curl. “Whatever feels right.”

_This_ , he didn’t say—couldn’t. _This feels right_. “Yeah,” he murmured. Then, wetting his lips, not looking away, Billy added, “Give me red.”


	7. Steve

Steve kept a subtle eye on the Young Avengers all through orientation and dinner.

It wasn’t that hard. Kate was popular, and loud, and not at all shy about being seen and heard whenever she dang well wanted to be. Eli was just as aggressive, and between the two of them, there might as well have been a spotlight on the little team. The others were varying shades of reserved beneath that—other than America, who was fairly chill until given reason not to be—and they orbited around their co-leaders like an unstable solar system in its early millennia of existence.

Except for Billy and Teddy.

Steve sat at one end of the long Avengers table, watching the two boys down at the far side. They’d ended up opposite each other, and they couldn’t have been more obviously awkward if they were trying. He spotted them making what looked like stilted conversation, the occasional blush creeping up Billy’s face before he hunched over his dinner with laser-focused intensity. The red ears stood out against his messy snarl of dark hair—alarmingly red, actually; Steve mentally mapped out the way to the infirmary, just in case an aneurism was imminent—and he seemed to vary between trying to lose himself in his hoodie and forcing himself to straighten and actually _look_ at an increasingly flustered Teddy.

Steve watched, frowning, as Billy looked away, fidgeting with his red bracelet as if it were made of fire, and mentally set aside an hour of time tomorrow to ‘accidentally’ bump into Billy and see if he could convince him to take a long walk around the lake.

He narrowed his eyes as Billy jerked his arm down (as if suddenly aware of the very obvious way he was twisting the bracelet into knots around his skinny wrist) and knocked his glass of lemonade off the table in a shower of glass and watered down juice. Maybe he shouldn’t wait until tomorrow after all.

Sam caught Steve’s elbow before he could stand. “It’s okay, man,” he said, voice pitched low. “Pretty sure it looks worse than it is.”

Steve looked at him, cocking his head in question. At the other end of the table, Billy _and_ Teddy were up on their feet, wadded napkins in hand; Phil had already detached from the SHIELD table and was moving to intervene even as one of the counselors trotted toward the back of the huge canteen for a broom and dust bin. “I should have made him an Avenger,” Steve said, just as quietly. “I could tell he was wound up tight about all this—I should have moved things around so he could stay with me. He seemed comfortable enough when it was just us.”

“Well, yeah,” Sam said easily. “That’s because you’re not as hot as Teddy Altman.”

Steve punched Sam’s shoulder, laughing; across the table, Bucky nearly asphyxiated on a French fry.

“I’m serious,” Sam said. His grin was wide and sunny. “Just look at the way that kid’s twitching. Twenty bucks says it’s an insta-crush thing, not an internalized-whatever thing. He’ll be a mess for the first week while he adjusts to Altman sleeping a bunk over and walking around all stupidly fine, but eventually he’ll settle, realize he’s among his people, and things will be chill again.”

Steve made a noncommittal noise, watching as Billy shuffled awkwardly out of Phil’s way, looking anywhere but at Teddy. His expression was tight and embarrassed and miserable, and it took everything Steve had not to get up and go to him right away. There were always one or two kids who weren’t ready for the transition to True Colors. It hurt his heart to see them pack up and leave at the start of the summer, and he was determined not to fail another one this year. Especially not one he already knew out in the world; if he could do something to help settle Billy into camp, he would.

But if Sam was right and Billy was acting weird because of something as simple (and as impossible) as attraction…well, there wasn’t exactly anything Steve could do about _that_. It took him how many years to be able to handle sharing space with his own too-hot-to-be-believed best friend? That wasn’t a battle he could help Billy win.

Then again, if—

Steve sputtered in mild annoyance as Tony jostled into his space, squirming to sit in the scant foot of extra room between him and Sam. “Tony,” he said, laughing.

Tony reached over and stole one of Bucky’s fries, winking when Bucky made to stab him with his fork. “So,” he said, in his best _share the gossip_ voice, “you three look intent. What are we talking about?”

“That’s none of your business,” Steve said, pushing his own plate in front of the other boy. It would save Tony’s fingers (Bucky was _serious_ about anyone trying to sneak his food), and besides, he never had been able to eat much.

He ignored Bucky’s worried glare and turned his focus on Tony, deliberately giving Billy and Teddy his back. He’d keep an eye on them through the next few days and intervene if necessary. Until then, the best plan would be to keep Tony Stark from thinking _he_ needed to get involved; that way lay chaos and madness and probably the end of camp as they knew it. “What are you up to?” he added.

Tony stole another of Bucky’s fries, ignoring Steve’s plate. He grinned around a mouthful of food. “Making everything my business,” he said—and it was all Steve could do not to groan.

***

In true Stark fashion, Tony just couldn’t let it go—even after he was finally filled in. He waved off Steve’s concerns (with a literal airy wave) and focused on making it his mission to badger Steve to death about it instead.

“I’m sure if you stare harder, you’ll make everything work out just fine.”

Steve sighed and leaned his elbows against his knees, gaze still focused on the cabin across the way; doing his level best to ignore the other boy. Of course, Tony had made an art form out of never being overlooked— _ever_ —so Steve already knew it was a losing battle.

Still. It was the principle of the thing.

“Yes, see, that little glower there— _that’s_ what’s going to make it all work out for Bobby—Baby?—Billy, whatever. Captain America using his laser focus and baby blues to reorient the universe into his image.”

Bucky stomped past, uneven floorboards reverberating beneath his tread. “Suck a bag of dicks, Stark,” he muttered.

Tony just laughed. “A whole _bag_ of them, Bucky? Well, I do like to be ambitious.”

Sam—sprawled out on the bunk he shared with Steve (up high, because he liked to be near the ceiling; not like Bucky, who preferred the bottom bunk but used to always make transparent excuses to give it over to Steve anyway)—flicked his gaze from the battered paperback curled between his hands. “That’s not what my Mama always called it,” he drawled.

“One word; two syllables; rhymes with _nutty_ ,” Clint added. He was sitting on Nat’s bunk, letting her braid beads into his hair. Thor looked on, his own much longer blond hair a rainbow of glass baubles, brows knitting.

“Putty?” Steve heard him mutter beneath his breath, even his lowest whisper filling the small cabin.

Tony snorted and leaned over the back of Steve’s chair, draping an arm down his skinny chest. The fine bristles of his goatee brushed Steve’s ear as he whispered, “ _Hey, Captain_.”

Steve fought back a grin…and an eyeroll. Funny how his closest friends always seemed to inspire both in equal measure. “Hey, Tony,” he whispered back—still staring out the window toward the opposite cabin. He could see occasional movement through their front windows, the Young Avengers settling into their cabin as (he hoped) seamlessly as their elders.

Tony’s lips twitched—not much in the way of warning, but just enough to have Steve ducking out of range before the other boy could bite the tempting shell of his ear. Tony’s teeth clacked together too loudly instead, underscored by a faux-hurt scoff and a generous grab of Steve’s less-than-generous chest. “ _Hey Captain_ , pay attention to us,” he said, ducking away with a laugh when Steve gave in and took a friendly swipe at him. Tony sometimes seemed to live his life at an eleven, but that didn’t mean Steve wasn’t happy to see him after too long apart. “Bucky! Make your boyfriend pay attention to us.”

Bucky straightened like a shot, very nearly braining himself on the upper bunk. Steve went very, very still.

 _I take it back_ , he thought, carefully not letting himself glance at Bucky’s face. _It hasn’t been near long enough._

A curious silence settled over the cabin, as if Tony had lobbed a grenade into the center of the room; Steve swore he could hear the pin drop. But of course, Tony wasn’t exactly going to _back down_. He just straightened, dark brows arched, hands shoved into his pockets in that way he had when he was feeling particularly bullish. “What?” he demanded. “Oh, so we’re okay with gossiping behind their backs, but we’re not going to say anything to their faces?”

“Come on, man,” Sam said, unfolding himself slowly. He set his paperback aside and swung his legs over the edge of his bunk.

“Tony,” Natasha said, gaze flickering from Steve to Bucky (still standing still as a statue; _petrified_ , as if the words had been a spell). “Why don’t we—”

Clint leaned back against her, looking like a Medusa with his short, spiky red-gold hair twisted in a crazy assortment of ribbons and beads. “I let Phil fuck me in his father’s fancy car right before driving up to camp,” he said, sounding bored, matter-of-fact, as if that weren’t a bombshell of its own. “Pretty sure Kate overheard the last few minutes of it.” He glanced around the silent cabin, flicking his fingers in an offhand gesture. “Discuss.”

“…you have _got_ to be kidding me,” Natasha said, squirming around gracefully to give Clint the benefit of her full-on _glare_. Tony laughed and let himself be distracted easily enough, drifting over to join Thor in peppering Clint with questions. ( _Does this mean the two of you are back together again_ and _Did he make you call him Daddy_ , respectively.) Even Bruce, quietly curled up in his corner with a pile of chapbooks and a planner, gave a soft huff of laughter.

Bucky awkwardly drifted over to Steve’s chair in the relative quiet.

Of course, he didn’t _say_ anything. That would have been too easy, Steve figured. That would have meant either of them actually had the guts to talk about this…whatever it was…that sometimes cropped up between them. No, instead he just crouched down a little off to his left, dark hair messy in his face as he studied the cabin across the way with a focus Steve couldn’t help but admire.

His brows were drawn together. His mouth was pulled into a frown. Shadows and light played across his face, making interesting shapes out of the sheer, mind-numbing perfection of his features, and Steve sighed internally as he did his best not to stare, reminding himself that they’d reached this stalemate for a reason. That if Bucky had actually _wanted_ anything from him, he would have said so long before now.

It wasn’t as if Bucky had ever been _shy_.

“I’m not actually worried that they’ll get along,” Steve said, voice low, ignoring the hooting and hollering and teasing going on at the other end of the cabin. Sam had dropped down to join the lot of them, leaving Bucky and Steve at the far window in their own little world. “Kate and David and Cassie and Teddy are all stabilizing influences. And Eli—he’ll be a good leader, this year, if he remembers not to try to hog all the decisions for himself.”

Bucky reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. “You figure Kate’d let him get away with that?” he murmured—pitched just for Steve.

“There’s no way in hell,” Steve shot back with a crooked smile. He caught movement flitting across the far window; big and blond and, sure, absolutely mind-numbingly gorgeous, too. “As for Billy…do you really figure he’s acting weird because of Teddy?”

His best friend shrugged a single shoulder. “Could be. Nothing makes you crazier than being around some guy you like.” Steve was careful to keep his eyes trained on the cabin across the way. “But you’re not the one who has to take it to heart. Let his new team make sure he settles in okay.”

“But,” Steve protested, starting to turn.

Bucky bumped their shoulders together, brows lifting. “ _But what_?” he said. “You think Kate and Eli can’t handle it if there’s something more going on? You think Cassie and David would let Billy flame out before really giving this place a chance? You think Teddy’s going to make it weird for him?”

“Well,” he had to admit slowly, “no.”

“Then let the Young Avengers handle the Young Avengers,” Bucky said. He stood, offering a big hand to Steve. “And you keep your eye on the Avengers. _Those_ nutbars actually need you hovering around them like a deranged mother hen.”

Steve snorted and snagged Bucky’s hand, letting himself be yanked up (gently; always, always, Bucky was so frustratingly _gentle_ with him). “Don’t say that around Tony _or_ Clint,” he warned. “There’s a cock joke in there somewhere, and I’d really prefer it not get turned on me.”

“Steve, lemme tell you something,” Bucky said. He slid a friendly arm over Steve’s shoulders, propelling him away from the window and his worry and back toward his (increasingly rowdy) team. There was a half-grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, and he felt so good against Steve’s side that he almost wanted to scream. “With the Avengers? There’s always a cock joke hiding there somewhere.”


	8. Billy

Billy was pretty sure _this_ was how he was going to die: standing in socked feet, wadded up hoodie clutched between spasmodically clenching fingers, desperately trying not to stare as _Teddy Altman_ stripped just a few feet away from him.

Just…pulled off his clothes, one after the other, as if Billy’s brain wasn’t busy melting out of his ears.

There was too much potential nudity going on and he. Could. Not. Cope. In fact, it seemed like _everywhere_ he looked, there was someone in some random state of undress.

For instance:

“I don’t care if you worked out the whole school year, Princess,” America was saying, wriggling out of her jeans and kicking them aside. She had on a pair of rainbow panties with the words FUCK YOU TOO written across the rear in sparkling silver. “You’re still not going to be the muscle on this team.”

“Oh, excuse me,” Princess— _Kate_ —said, snapping the hook of her bra and letting the straps fall loose about her arms, “but you’re going to be singing a different tune when I kick your ass later.”

America snorted. “Ha!” she said, shucking her t-shirt and sports bra in one fluid motion. “I can’t wait to see you try.”

Across the cabin, Eli shook his head and dropped his jeans to the floor; the metal belt buckle made a solid _thunk_ as it landed, perfectly in tune with Billy’s lurching heart.

He had no idea where to look. Where not to look. How to stand, or breathe, or even function. There were like…half-naked people. Out in the open. And no one seemed to notice. It was some kind of weird irony that he’d seen more breasts at _gay camp_ than during his whole rest of his life combined.

And then Teddy slid his thumbs into his own jeans and pushed them down powerful thighs, and all at once Billy’s brain lurched sideways into absolute dazed gibberish.

“Wow!” Billy murmured to himself, staring—even as he knew, _he knew_ , he wasn’t supposed to stare. It was just…he’d been watching Teddy out of the corner of his eyes for what felt like forever now. Crushing hard over the way he laughed, or the brightness of his eyes, or that flash of a dimple marring an otherwise perfect cheek. The breadth of Teddy’s shoulders made him feel hot and aching at night, and, yeah, he wasn’t too proud to admit that he’d gotten himself off more than once at the memory of his voice or the fantasy of heat in his eyes as Teddy slowly dropped to his knees.

And now here he was, standing just a few feet away from his dream guy—his _queer_ dream guy, and holy shit but that was still blowing his mind—and finally learning the answer to whether or not Teddy Altman preferred boxers or briefs.

(Boxer-briefs, it turned out. Black, because Billy didn’t need those brain cells anyway.)

“So, new kid,” Eli interrupted the utter immolation of his brain.

Billy tore his gaze away from Teddy and looked over just as the other boy tugged a well-worn t-shirt on over his head. It had a faded American flag on the front and was stenciled with the words _fuck the police_. “Um,” Billy said. He shuffled to wriggle out of his own jeans and leap into his pajama pants as quickly as possible. If he didn’t hurry up, he’d be the last one standing there, fully dressed.

“What’s your deal?” Eli said.

“What’s my…?” He stumbled a little, foot tangling in the leg of his pajamas, and crap crap, now people were looking at him. _Teddy_ was looking at him, and Billy had never been more self-conscious of his pale, skinny legs before in his life. “You mean my… Red?” he offered, _finally_ yanking the bottoms the rest of the way up, thank God.

He’d stick with the t-shirt he wore all day. Much better to sleep in something slightly sweaty than risk tugging it off _now_ when they were all settling into their beds or leaning against desks, watching him.

Eli frowned. “ _No_ ,” he said, kicking a chair around and taking a seat. “That’s not what I meant.”

“We don’t ask about the bracelets,” Teddy reminded Billy in a low voice. He stayed close—if anything, he edged a little closer, as if visibly aligning himself with Billy. An ally; a friend. The idea made Billy’s stomach curl with pleasure, even as the rest of him still stuttered in confusion over Eli’s question.

“Okay,” he said, sliding a thumb into the bracelet and giving it an absentminded tug. Not all of the Young Avengers were wearing one. Cassie, the quiet blonde girl with the sweet smile, seemed to be wearing a whole armful of them, all in pale shades of the rainbow. “Uh…then I have no idea what you mean.”

Kate snorted and casually—gracefully—leaped up onto her top bunk. “Eli’s already in competitive mode,” she explained, offering America an arm up. The other girl snorted but took it, following Kate up onto the bunk. “He’s thinking about all the upcoming chances we’ve got to win points. Most of it’s the usual kind of thing. You know,” she added at Billy’s blank look, “archery, weaving, nature trails, swimming, track, rowing.”

“The summer’s broken down into a bunch of different friendly competitions over a _lot_ of different activities,” Teddy added. “Each group competes for points.”

“Yeah, so,” Eli said, crossing his arms over the back of the chair and leaning forward. He looked…intent. Intense. _Focused_ , as if coming first place in macramé really was a life-or-death thing. “What’s your deal? What are you good at? Running? Swimming?”

This was all a lot. Billy felt like he was being unusually slow to catch on to everything, but it was like he were standing still and the rest of the camp was blurring past him in a rainbow of color and sensation. He just wished things would slow down for a few minutes so he could catch his breath. “I’m…none of those,” he said. He went to sit on his bed, already made up from before dinner. The familiar blanket, pillow, everyday _crap_ back from his other life was at least a little grounding. “I’m not exactly Mr. Athletic.”

“Told you,” America said with a laugh.

Billy snagged his pillow and wrapped his arms around it, hating how small those two words made him feel. He was pretty sure she didn’t mean anything by it, but it was impossible not to flash back to all the gym classes he’d suffered through, the team sports he’d barely endured—the laughter he saw in the other boys’ eyes whenever he slunk into the locker room to change after a mortifying hour of trying to survive out on the field.

“I,” Billy began, shoulders hunched, though there wasn’t anything he could say in his defense.

He didn’t have to. “ _America,_ ” Teddy snapped, voice gone shockingly cold. Both America and Eli straightened at the tone, surprise clear in their expressions; Billy couldn’t blame them. He couldn’t remember _ever_ seeing Teddy lose his smiling good temper, and the one time, the _one time_ he did…it was for _him_?

God.

He.

He had no idea what to do with that.

The air was still, quiet, as the entire cabin waited to see what would happen next. Teddy didn’t back down. He was standing there just a few feet away from Billy’s bed, _glaring_ at America with a protective severity Billy had never seen before. He looked imposing—big and self-possessed—and it would take a fool to go up against him.

Obviously, America was no fool.

“Sorry, Ted,” she said—actually _sounding_ sorry. Then, just as apologetic: “And sorry, Billy. That was a dick move. Forgive me?”

He fumbled over himself to respond. “Yes, of course, yes,” Billy said. It felt like his heart was about to go hammering out of his chest at any moment. “No harm done.”

Teddy slowly relaxed, chin jerking once in a nod. “Billy’s smart,” he added, turning his attention back to Eli. “We go to school together, and he’s one of the smartest kids I know. Maybe as smart as Nate.”

Across the cabin, the almost completely silent Nate looked up from his Kindle, the glow of his screen lighting up his face in an eerie blue-white.

Eli nodded slowly. “We’ve got a lot of muscle on this team already,” he said. “Another brain would help keep things balanced. Are you any good with puzzles, Billy?”

 _That_ he had no problem answering. “I love puzzles,” Billy said honestly. “I’m pretty good at them, too. Fast.”

“See now there’s a talent we’ve been missing,” Kate said, swinging a leg down to give America her back as the other girl began plaiting her hair into a long, intricate braid. “No offense, Nate—you may be one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met, but you’re not exactly _speedy_.”

Nate glanced up again. “I’m not offended,” he said before dropping his eyes back to his screen. When he moved his hand, Billy caught sight of a single grey bracelet.

“All right, then,” Eli said, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s get to planning. Kate, I want you to—”

Billy tried to listen to the (surprisingly intense…though he was beginning to think that everything this group did was surprisingly intense) strategy session—he really did!—but he was instantly distracted by Teddy moving over to join him.

“Can I sit?” Teddy asked, leaning in closer, voice pitched low.

Billy quickly nodded and jerked his legs out of the way, making room. The mattress dipped beneath Teddy’s weight as he settled down next to him, sitting on Billy’s bed.

…he had to take a moment to process that. Teddy Altman was dressed in pajamas, smiling at him, and _sitting on his bed_. The nervous excitement that erupted in his gut at that felt like he’d swallowed a jar full of Pop Rocks. He was giddy with it, and nauseous, and oddly daring.

“So,” he said, eyeing Teddy from beneath the chaotic fall of his dark hair. He kept his voice low, so Eli didn’t notice they weren’t paying attention and take a swipe at them. “One of the smartest kids you know, huh?”

Teddy smiled, shoulders lifting once. “Well, yeah. I’ve always thought that.”

 _Always_. The word bubbled up inside him, and great, now it felt like he’d chased those Pop Rocks with Pepsi. He wondered whether the average teenaged body could explode with happiness and hormones. _Local Gay Nerd, Killed By Massive Crush: News at 11._ “I didn’t really think you noticed me enough to _always_ anything,” he managed.

The smile slipped, and Billy nearly fell over himself to add, “I mean, not that I _blame_ you or anything.”

“I’ve noticed you, Billy,” Teddy said, speaking over him—still quiet, though Billy couldn’t help but be aware of Cassie casting them curious glances, as if wondering what they were whispering about. “I mean, it’s impossible _not_ to. You’re funny and smart and articulate—”

“Okay,” Billy said, “now I know you’ve got me mixed up with someone else.”

“—and _nice_ and thoughtful and interesting—”

God, he had to stop this or he really would explode into multi-colored streamers. Billy tipped forward, hands clapping over Teddy’s mouth. The feel of his hips, the hot gust of his surprised breath, was almost too good to shake off, but Billy managed to focus on a self-deprecating grin. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, I get it. You, um…” He dropped his hands back into his lap. “You _noticed_ me. I, uh. I noticed you too.”

 _Obviously_. Since he’d shouted a confession of love right into Teddy’s stupidly perfect face not that long ago.

A faint hint of color stained Teddy’s cheeks, as if he were remembering the same moment. He looked down, just as Billy looked away, feeling more awkward than he ever had before in his _life_. This place—True Colors—was absolutely amazing. It was everything he’d never let himself dream it could be. And it would be absolutely perfect if he could only just roll back time and stuff his past-self into a locker before he could ever utter those fateful words.

 _I’m gay, and I’m kind of in love with you_.

Shit. Well, if he couldn’t go back into the past, then the best he could do was apologize and try to brazen out the rest of the summer. (The rest of his life.) Teddy was a nice guy—it was more than half the reason he’d fallen so hard for him in the first place. And now that he knew he was queer _too_ , it somehow made it easier to slowly back away. _No harm, no foul, right?_

“Um, look, Teddy,” Billy said, careful to keep his voice very, very low. The others were debating…inner tube relay races or some-such thing. He didn’t know, he didn’t care. What mattered was taking his chance to lay to rest that last bit of awkwardness so they wouldn’t each go to sleep (within _feet_ of each other) with this weird thing hanging between them. “I just wanted to tell you… I mean…”

He dragged his fingers through his hair, feeling itching beneath his skin. This was almost worse than coming out in the first place. “I just wanted to tell you,” he repeated, firmer this time, “that what I said, um, at school… I don’t know, it was stupid, I wasn’t even thinking. And I was just hoping we could pretend it never happened.”

His pulse was racing. He felt like he was about to throw up all over his high school’s most beautiful, most sought-after jock.

Teddy wasn’t even looking at him. His eyes were fixed on some point across the cabin, and that blush was much deeper now—whorls of delicate color staining his neck, his cheeks, all the way up to his _ears_ , where flashes of silver interrupted brilliant red. “Um, okay,” he said slowly—so, so quiet that Billy had to strain to hear him. “If you want, we could do that. It’s just that, you ran off so quick, you never really gave me a chance to say, uh…” He wet his lips, then glanced over, from the corner of his lashes, like he couldn’t bring himself to _look_ at Billy. “I, uh, I kind of like you too.”

“ _WHAT?”_ Billy yelped, _far, far_ too loud. He immediately straightened, knocking his head against the top of the bunk, hyperaware that everyone was looking at him now. Eli, scowling. America, scowling. Kate, smirking. Cassie, smiling. Teddy, blushing. Nate…

Okay, everyone but Nate was looking at him.

Eli crossed his arms over his chest, glaring them both down. “Did you have something to add to the strategy session?” he demanded. “Teddy? You got something to say?”

“Uh, sorry,” Billy said.

“Nope, nothing here,” Teddy added.

Eli’s frown darkened. “Well, you _should_ have feedback. If either of you had been bothering to pay attention instead of—”

“Hey,” Kate said, interrupting what looked like the beginning of a tirade. She glanced at Billy, shooting him a quick wink. “So, we ended up settling on calling ourselves the Young Avengers, right? That was a pretty genius idea, Eli.”

Eli stopped mid-word, mouth still open. His face…did something, something Billy couldn’t quite describe. It almost looked like a volcano erupting backwards, in slow motion, until the other boy was filled with nothing but smoke and magma and disgusted ire.

“It _was not_ my idea,” he said, moving to his feet and rounding on her—and another passionate fight broke out, the rest of the _Young Avengers_ turning their attention back to their leaders and away from Billy.

Well. Everyone but Teddy.

Billy looked over, meeting blue eyes. Teddy was still watching him with a quiet sort of patience, flushed dark and…trembling? No, yeah, his _hands_ were actually shaking a little where he toyed with the hem of his shirt. His shoulders subtly hunched over, and Billy had always thought of him as being so strong, so cool, so untouchable. One of the kings of the school and nothing, _nothing_ like the walking disaster that was Billy Kaplan. Someone like Teddy wasn’t afraid to do anything.

And yet, right here, right now, he _looked_ afraid—of Billy. As if they had fallen into some weird, bizarro world where _Billy_ had the power to hurt him.

 _I kind of like you too_ , he’d said, and holy shit, but Billy was starting to think that maybe Teddy meant it.

He drew in a serrated breath, feeling his own cheeks hot as a furnace. Slowly, carefully, he nudged over, closing some of the distance between them. The mattress creaked, dipped, rolled their hips closer together; their shoulders brushed once, and it was nearly enough to immolate him from the inside-out.

_F-u-u-uuuuuu-u-u-c-k._

Billy swallowed. “Um,” he said—eloquent as ever. He could barely hear over the frantic staccato of his heart.

“You don’t have to—” Teddy began, then stopped. He jerked at his shirt, fingers twining, pulling hard at the hem. “I mean. This is a new start for you. I don’t want you to think that you—”

Yank. Pull. Twist.

Daring much—daring everything—Billy glanced around the small cabin (no one was looking, far as he could tell) and reached out to breach that little bit of distance left between them. He closed his hand over Teddy’s jerking fingers, instantly stilling them. Teddy’s skin was, oh, so warm. His palms were calloused from sports, rough against his, and Billy felt three seconds away from passing out as he gently squeezed Teddy’s fingers, hoping against hope.

Teddy wet his lips again, then suddenly turned his hand beneath Billy’s, letting their fingers briefly tangle together.

It felt like the end of the world—like the start of something _new_.

“Oh,” Billy said lightly, with the last oxygen left in his body. “Um. Cool.”

“Yeah,” Teddy said, squeezing. Billy automatically squeezed _back_. “Uh. Yeah.”

They glanced at each other, meeting eyes before both quickly looked away. Their hands untangled and fell apart, but the impression of heat was still there, trapped against his palm. Teddy Altman…liked him.

God, if this were some kind of weird fever dream, he was going to be _so_ pissed.

“Eli’s winding up,” Teddy added, tilting a little closer to whisper. Billy had to struggle not to _shudder_ at the brush of hot breath against his skin. “Talk about this tomorrow? Alone?”

 _Alone_. Alone with Teddy. Talking about their feelings. About how they freaking liked each other. _Like that._ And maybe holding hands again. And maybe opening the door for something even more deeper into the summer. Like kissing. And curling up together. And making out. And and and— And _holy shitballs_ , gay camp was the best thing that had ever happened to him in his whole freaking _life_.

“Yeah,” he said, so full of the idea that the word come out as a squeak. Fine. Whatever. Maybe Teddy liked squeaking him, too—he was willing to take the risk. “Okay. Tomorrow. Talking. You and me will do the…talking.”

“With the mouth sounds,” Teddy agreed, “and the garbled English.”

“And the syllables and everything,” Billy said, and he swore—he _swore_ —that when Teddy laughed at that stupid joke, it was enough to send him flying despite Eli’s sudden death glare.

Teddy Altman _liked him_. Just. Wow. Just wow.

…and _holy fuck_ , how was he supposed to fall asleep just a few feet away from the crush of his young gay life _now_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gay: Red  
> Lesbian: Purple  
> Bisexual: Blue  
> Transgender: Torquoise  
> Pansexual: Yellow  
> Asexual: Grey  
> Genderfluid: Green


	9. Billy

“All right,” Eli said over breakfast the next morning, clapping his hands together to get their attention. “Everyone, eyes on me. We’ve got work to do.”

America snorted and leaned back, arms crossing over her chest. She tipped her head and muttered something under her breath. By her side, Kate hid a laugh behind her hand, woven bracelet catching Billy’s eye. He did his best not to be obvious about noticing, but he was so curious—so busily piecing together this new world he’d stumbled into—that he couldn’t help it.

What had Teddy said? Red was gay, green was genderfluid… But there was a whole rainbow of colors here at Camp True Colors, and he still didn’t know how to decode them all.

As if sensing his curiosity (as if reading his freaking mind, which would have been terrifying if Billy hadn’t already all but screamed his biggest secret right into Teddy’s shell-shocked face what felt like an age ago) Teddy leaned close, shoulder brushing his. The warmth made him shiver, again, always, just, _gack_. “Turquoise is trans,” he explained in a low voice as Eli launched into his speech.

“Oh,” Billy said, digesting that. He was grateful for the explanation, but there always seemed to be a million more questions ready to come swarming in the moment one was answered. “Why does she only have one bracelet, though? I mean, um, you have two, so…”

So _it wasn’t any of his business, was it?_ “Sorry,” he added quickly, cutting his gaze away. Down the table, Eli gesticulated before pounding his fist into his open palm. Something something teamwork. Right.

Teddy shifted beside him. “It’s okay to ask questions,” he murmured, dropping a big palm to the curve of Billy’s spine. That single, simple touch was enough to have his body lighting up in response, electricity zinging through every nerve ending, heart giving a startled kick before beginning to _race_. God, it was crazy how this boy could send his whole world tumbling end over end. “Especially of the peer counselors. That’s what we’re here for.”

He cleared his throat, ducking his head a little closer to Billy’s—that warm, big, impossibly wonderful palm sliding down and to the side just a little, as if Teddy wanted to wrap his arm around Billy’s waist. As if he wanted to… “And, um. _Especially_ especially me. You can ask me anything. Anything you want.”

_Will you kiss me?_

No, that probably wasn’t the kind of question Teddy meant.

…but God, right now it was just about the only one he could think of.

“Um, okay,” Billy said. Down the table, Kate had planted her elbows on either side of her plate and was leaning forward, pressing Eli about, uh, well, some point or another. Billy supposed he should be paying attention and learning all about the team rivalries and what would be expected of him, but his thoughts were too busy zipping about his head like manic fireflies: lighting up and dimming every time Teddy shifted against him. He was this big wall of warmth, sweet-smelling and intoxicating and and and it was cruel to expect Billy to be able to pluck words out of his brain and string them together in some logical order, but Teddy was _looking_ at him. Waiting. Clearly expecting more questions, and, shit.

 _Shit_.

He fumbled for the first thing that caught his eye: another bracelet, this time on America’s wrist. “What about purple?” he blurted. Perhaps too loud this time—Nate shot them both a quick look, dark brows ticking up, and Teddy started to withdraw with a guilty flush.

Billy let out a breath, frustrated by the loss of warmth. _Damn it._

“ _Sorry_ ,” he mouthed to Nate, waiting until the other boy had swung his gaze back to Eli and Kate before turning back to Teddy. “Sorry!” he whispered, this time careful to keep his voice low enough not to be overheard. The canteen was filled with conversation and laughter, only a couple of team leaders taking the opportunity to talk strategy. Across the room, Billy spotted a handsome black boy standing at military precision, scowling down at a silent table. The girl he’d met on the bus—Maria—stood at his side, clipboard in hand.

Okay, wow, at least Eli hadn’t veered toward _that_ extreme.

“Yeah, Eli takes team leadership pretty seriously,” Teddy admitted, tilting his head closer so Billy could feel his words as much as hear them. They puffed hot against his ear, ruffling the hairs at his temple and making him shiver in place. “Don’t let her fool you into thinking otherwise, but Kate does too. And Nate’s… Well, he takes his cues from them.”

“Should I be listening to Eli’s speech?” Billy wondered, subtly shifting closer to Teddy. Their shoulders brushed, then their sides, until they were pressed lightly together. It wasn’t as good as having Teddy’s hands literally _on_ him, but it was still, yeah, pretty damn good.

Teddy nudged against him playfully. “Nah,” he said. “It’s pretty much a recap of last night anyway. Things don’t really get rolling until day three or four. Today’s still about getting to know the lay of the land; meeting people; that sort of thing.”

“Are you going to help me get my bearings, then?” Billy asked—doing his best to flirt up at the other boy. He didn’t have any practice with it, but he figured from the way Teddy began to smile that he wasn’t doing _terribly_. “Be my guide? Keep me from wandering off the path and getting eaten by a bear?”

He pressed a hand over a tie-dye-covered heart. “As your peer counselor, I consider it my _duty_ to keep you informed, oriented, and 100% bear-free.”

“My hero,” Billy cooed with a flutter of his lashes, and something bright and fizzy uncoiled in his belly at the way Teddy flushed and bit his bottom lip as if to swallow a laugh. _Yes yes yes_. Maybe he wasn’t so hopeless at flirting after all. Maybe he was some kind of _savant_. “When do we—”

Billy cut off with a surprised click of his teeth—very nearly biting his _tongue_ —when that big hand fell against his knee and _squeezed_. The touch wasn’t anywhere near, um, sensitive spots, but it still sent his entire body reeling in response. Gut clenching, breath catching, heart dipping and swerving in his chest as he stared up at Teddy with huge eyes.

All it would take was a simple slide up worn denim and…

Teddy tilted his head toward the end of the table. Billy blinked once, then jerked his gaze to Eli, who was now standing at the end to address them all, eyes raking over each of them in turn.

“All right,” he said solemnly, “you all know what you’re supposed to do.” Billy had _no idea_ what he was supposed to do. “Make today count. The other teams are going to be dragging about _enjoying the day,_ ” the way he said the words made them sound like a war crime, “but _we’re_ going to use our time wisely so we can crush the opposition. You want to know why?”

“Because you’re a dick,” America said, sounding bored.

“Because this time we’re the best?” Cassie offered with a tilt of her head. “Maybe? Hopefully?”

Kate laughed. “Sweetie, let’s work on that bravado,” she said. “Come on, say it with me: because we’re the Young Avengers, and the Young Avengers are the _best_.”

“We are _not_ ,” Eli growled, “the freaking _Young_ anything!”

Kate stood, one leg up on the bench, and faced the team. “Come on, guys,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the hubbub of the canteen. “Are we the _freaking_ Young Avengers or what?”

Teddy and David gave a cheer, joined quickly by Cassie and Nate. America smirked before shoving her fingers between pursed lips and whistling—so shrill and _loud_ that the tables nearest them flinched in response. Billy clapped his hands over his ears, laughing. He gave a little cheer himself, loving the way Eli scowled down at all of them…a small, barely hidden smile toying at the corners of his mouth.

Yeah. Yeah, they were the _freaking Young Avengers_ all right, and God but it felt good to belong to something bigger than himself. To be accepted without question, without compromise, as if he’d always been a part of the team.

“All right, fine,” Eli finally said, when the raucous cheering had ended. Across the canteen, Billy spotted Steve and a few of the other Avengers watching them with fond grins. “ _Young Avengers,_ move out. We’ll meet up tonight and go over everything we learned before lights out.”

Kate gave a little cheer and hopped off the edge of the table, tugging her t-shirt straight. David turned to Nate, and Teddy gave Billy’s shoulder a light nudge. “Come on,” he murmured, standing. “Let’s bus our trays and get out of here.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, fumbling to follow. He had no idea where they were going—but then, he mused as he bused his tray and trailed Teddy out of the canteen and into the brilliant morning sunshine, he was 99% sure he’d follow Teddy just about anywhere, no questions asked.

Teddy held the door open for him, those blue eyes bright as they met his, a rogue shaft of sunlight catching in his hair and making it gleam _gold_ …and yeah, fuck, no, make that 100% sure.

Gravel crunched under their sneakers as Teddy gently nudged his shoulder and sent him down a path away from the center of camp. “You want a tour?” he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. He seemed so relaxed, so at ease, that Billy instinctively mimicked his posture—hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, shoulders relaxed forward, face tipped up toward Teddy’s. Their elbows bumped now and again as they walked, and wasn’t it crazy that he was here, now, experiencing this? He’d wished for so long that he had the nerve to tell Teddy exactly how he felt, and here Teddy was, all this time, not only receptive to Billy but _welcoming_. More than happy to meet him halfway.

 _I wish I could go back in time_ , he thought, enjoying the heat of the sun on his face. Breathing in the green-blue scents of summer. _I wish I could tell myself back then just how many good things could happen if I just dared._

Funny that, after all this time, _Tommy_ was right.

Teddy laughed. “Should I read anything into the long, spacey silence?” he teased. “I’m beginning to think you’re a glitched-out Skyrim NPC.”

“Ugh,” Billy said, knocking into him playfully, heart tripping madly when Teddy just grinned and freed a hand to wrap his arm around his waist. The weight, the heat, the utter perfect smell of Teddy was all around him, making his toes curl within his scuffed Keds. “You’re not allowed to be gorgeous _and_ nerdy. My heart can’t take it.”

“What else can’t your heart take, I wonder?” Teddy said in a wicked murmur, and it was only his quick reflexes—and that arm already around Billy’s waist—that kept Billy from face-planting on the rocky path.

Fuck, he could _feel_ himself blushing from tip to toes, heart giving a pathetic lurch as everything inside him lit up at the—the—the _insinuation_.

 _Oh God_ , Billy thought, unable to even look at Teddy for fear that the top would come flying off his skull. _Oh God, is he… Does he mean…_ “Um!” he said, everything else tangled helplessly at the tip of his tongue.

Teddy cleared his throat and let him go. They kept walking, though, moving past buildings Billy couldn’t be bothered to note. If this was supposed to be his tour, he was going to be woefully unprepared for the rest of the summer: he could barely keep his own thoughts straight, much less mark the various cabins and quarters and what-have-yous.

“Sorry,” Teddy said after an awkward silence. “I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“No,” Billy quickly countered. He forced himself to _look_ at Teddy, relieved to see the flush heating Teddy’s cheeks too. Okay, okay, good—it wasn’t just him, then. “No, no, I’m the weird one. Trust me.”

Teddy raked his fingers back through his hair. “I could argue that. But, uh, mostly I meant I didn’t mean to make things… I don’t want to assume that you’re, um…”

 _Interested?_ As if Billy could be anything but. “No, no, no, no,” he said. “I mean, yes, assume. Go ahead and assume. Whatever you want. Assume me, and, I. Hi,” Billy added on a laugh and covered his face. God, his cheeks were so hot he thought he might catch on fire. “Sorry. I’m just—this is all really new to me. I don’t know how to act around, um…”

He didn’t know how to end that, so he just switched topics. “So how many acres is the camp?”

Teddy just huffed a quiet laugh. “All right,” he said, deliberately reaching out to catch Billy’s hand. He thread their fingers together slowly, almost showily, as if he were trying to prove something to them both. “How about we start over? And maybe go somewhere private so we can talk.”

Billy squeezed his fingers, loving the drag of their palms together. Loving that he got to _have_ this. “Okay,” he breathed, following as Teddy led them off the main path and into the treeline. It was already a beautiful day, sun rising higher into a wide open sky as the morning stretched wide before them. “But, um, I have to know: do you mean so we can talk, or so we can _talk_?”

“…is there a difference?” He reached up to push aside a branch, letting it swish quietly back into place behind them. There were kids calling out to each other as they poured out of the canteen some distance back. He thought he heard a not-too-distant splash (the lake?) followed by shrieks of laughter. But deeper into the forest, there was life of another kind: quieter. More intense. Humming with anticipation.

He swallowed against the butterflies running riot in his belly. “Um, well, one was said with a pretty straight face and the other had sort-of waggly eyebrows,” Billy said. He stumbled gracelessly over a root and shot Teddy a glance to make sure he hadn’t seen. “I mean, I know you said we were starting over, but I have to admit: I’m still pretty stuck on that whole _being interested_ thing and, uh, if you wanted to go pull up a log or whatever and make out, I wouldn’t exactly be _opposed_.”

It was Teddy’s turn to trip over his own feet, breath sucked in on a sharp gasp that ended in a startled _laugh_. He tightened his grip on Billy’s fingers and tilted his head to look at him, something bright (and hot) and amused (and _hot_ ) in his eyes. “Are you… I can’t even believe you,” he said, tugging in Billy’s hand. Reeling him closer. “You’re ridiculous and perfect and okay. Sure. Yeah. Let’s…do that.”

 _Oh my God_. It took everything Billy had not to just start shouting with nerves and bubbling over excitement. He had to bite the inside of his mouth to swallow back the impulse, following in Teddy’s footsteps. They were heading deeper and deeper into the forest—and yeah, okay, he probably should have been paying attention to how to get back, just in case a bear ate Teddy’s face or whatever, but there was no way he could focus on anything but the way sunlight filtered through trees to catch in Teddy’s hair. The shy-yet-amused smile the other boy cast him. Fucking _dimples_ , oh crap.

“Oh crap,” Billy breathed, stumbling along behind Teddy with his heart in his throat, wanting, _wanting_.

“Something wrong?” Teddy asked. He turned to catch a branch, pulling it aside so Billy could pass. Leaves rustled, the soft _shhh shhh_ enough to make him shiver.

Billy licked his bottom lip. “No,” he said, ducking past a second branch and out of the treeline. “Not to be too cheesy, but I don’t think anything has ever been this right and…oh.” He stopped, staring.

Utterly swept away.

The clearing was small, little more than Billy’s room back home. Smaller than that, maybe, with a carpet of soft green dotted with snow-white and pale-violet flowers. Snaking roots crept out of the tangle of greenery, forming natural dips and divots, almost like chairs. _Loveseats_. Rubbed smooth in places, as if polished by generations of kids leaning back within their welcome embrace to stare up at the sky visible between shifting snatches of the canopy above.

 _That_ was a weft and weave of the most delicate green Billy had ever seen, each small leaf shivering in the wind—translucent, nearly, beneath the pure golden sunlight. Each sway of the branches caused the ceiling to move with it, shadows dancing, twining, perfect. _Perfect_. He’d never been much for nature—never really got a chance, growing up on the Upper West Side—but this was everything he’d dreamed of. The clearing was so still, so quiet, that each breath of wind was a whisper of welcome.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Okay,” Billy said, voice choked up, though he couldn’t explain why the simple beauty was affecting him so deeply. Maybe because it was _so different_ from his normal life. Maybe because it was something he never even realized he needed so much: the filtered green-gold silence sinking into his skin, making muscles loosen one by one. “I have to take it back. _Now_ I don’t think anything has ever been this right.”

Teddy chuffed a quiet laugh, stepping in behind him. _Close_. Close enough that Billy could feel a puff of breath against the back of his neck, could sense his heat running along his spine. Billy shivered, wrapping his arms tighter, and very nearly gasped when big, broad hands dropped to his shoulders…before slowly sliding down down down the slope of his arms.

He had to close his eyes against the sensation.

He had to _open_ them again, unwilling to miss a moment of this perfect, magical place.

Had to suck in a breath, head tipping back, as Teddy slowly wrapped his arms around Billy, chest pressed snug against Billy’s back, fingertips brushing along the divots of his knuckles, each rise and fall of his chest pulling Billy into the rhythm of his breaths. In, out, in, out, the two of them synchronizing as if they’d been born to fit so perfectly together.

Teddy dropped his head, nuzzling against the dark hair at Billy’s temple. “Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” he promised.

“Oh God, please don’t stop,” Billy whined.

That earned a rusty laugh, breath hot against his skin seconds before Teddy’s lips—so soft it was like its own kind of whisper—traced down the line of Billy’s throat from ear to the sensitive join on his shoulder.

Billy gasped, then _moaned_ , knees very nearly giving out. He locked them tight and tried not to babble anything embarrassing, hideously aware of all that scalding heat against his skin…and the answering heat pooling low in his belly. It was like a spark breathed to life, catching in dry tinder and flaming through his system as, as—

Oh. God. He was _hard_.

He bit his lower lip to swallow a reflexive whimper, tilting his head to give Teddy better access. He’d never been turned on _with_ someone before. It was a whole new experience, a whole new layer of neuroses and fears and hopes, his hips twitching of their own accord. _I want I want I want._

Teddy just tightened his arms around Billy’s waist, tugging him back into the frame of his body. He was big enough that he seemed to surround Billy like a shell—a protective layer against the world, and, God, wasn’t that an amazing thought? It made something else sputter to life inside his gut, and he moaned for fear of saying something _really_ embarrassing. Something like _I could totally fall in love with you_ : cheesy and stupid when they were still so new to this and still, still, so very real and raw he could feel the emotion humming in the back of his throat.

And then Teddy swirled his tongue against the lobe of his ear and there was nothing but dissolving need.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Billy said with a hiccoughing laugh. His hips gave a jerk he couldn’t possibly hope to control, and he was officially harder than he’d _ever_ been before. He twitched restlessly, arching up onto the balls of his feet as if that could drive him further back against Teddy, before giving a frustrated noise and turning in his arms.

It meant losing the mind-numbing _ohfuckhot_ of Teddy’s tongue flicking against his earlobe, but it also meant he could look up at him and see those dilated blue eyes. Billy grabbed the front of Teddy’s tie-dye t-shirt, yanking him down for a blistering kiss.

Tongues. Teeth. Slick slick hot glide and, fuck, he wanted to climb him like a tree. Billy jerked an arm around Teddy’s broad shoulders and pushed forward, using his skinny body and slight weight to shove up into Teddy’s space. He _moaned_ at the first brush of their chests, at the clack of Teddy’s belt buckle against the button of his jeans. He could feel his own erection straining against the zip and he wanted to know… He had to know…

 _Sorry, sorry_ , Billy thought, even as he dragged one hand down between them, fumblingly cupping the front of Teddy’s jeans. He nearly snatched his hand away at once, as if he’d touched a hot stove; the feel of hard flesh beneath familiar denim was nearly as scalding.

Teddy broke the kiss on a hissing breath. He turned his face, head ducked down, but he _didn’t pull away_. If anything, he was pushing up tighter into Billy’s loose grip, hips grinding forward as if he wanted Billy to, to, _something._ Stroke, grab, God, he had no idea. This was already well beyond anything he knew outside of porn and his own filthy nighttime fantasies. In fact, this was so like one of his more vivid dreams that he almost laughed, tilting his head back—his hand on Teddy Altman’s dick and Teddy’s open-mouthed panting breaths a hot circle against his shoulder.

“You probably had no idea,” Billy said, his voice coming out strangled and hoarse, “but this is everything I always thought it would be.” He paused at a sudden bright burst of birdsong overhead and had to add, ever-truthful, “All right, all this _nature_ stuff is unexpected.”

Teddy laughed at that, the sound gorgeously rough, choked. He pulled back just enough to look at Billy, his eyes nothing but black surrounded by the faintest blue. He reached down to catch Billy’s hand, tugging him away from that fascinating heat (from that straining hardness, pressed tight against the zip and all but begging Billy to pop open the button and…and finally see what all this endless frustrated longing led to) and lifted it to press an achingly soft kiss to Billy’s knuckles. “We’re going pretty fast here,” Teddy said.

“Well, you know,” Billy said, “that’s me. Fast n’ the Furious Kaplan.”

Teddy laughed again, and Billy grinned so hard his cheeks ached. He was hard and Teddy was hard and he’d made him _laugh_. Camp was the fucking _best_. “We’ve got all summer to make it through that franchise,” Teddy teased, stepping back, then back again. He led Billy down into the dark nestle of a tangle of roots and brush—green and brown and open as an embrace as Teddy tugged him into his lap. Sprawled on grass, fingers already sliding up into the dark tangle of his hair and pulling him in for a messy tangle of tongues. _Slower_ than before, but no less deep, the steady rhythmic slick slick slick setting the metronome of his heart. His arching hips. The tumbling rush of his thoughts as he sucked against the thrust of Teddy’s tongue and realized down to his toes that he really could have this _all freaking summer_ , and, yeah. _Yeah_.

If he had weeks to learn his way around this boy, to maybe make a summer fling into something more…then _yeah_ , okay, he’d maybe be willing to take things slow.

(Teddy moaned and bucked up, erection dragging fuckshityeah hard against Billy as he sucked away the sting of the curious scrape of his tongue, and. Well. Fine. … _Slow-ish_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gay: Red  
> Lesbian: Purple  
> Bisexual: Blue  
> Transgender: Turquoise  
> Pansexual: Yellow  
> Asexual: Grey  
> Genderfluid: Green
> 
> And many, many more. No matter where you are on the rainbow spectrum, you have a place at True Colors.


	10. Bucky

It was a good day.

No. It was a _really_ good day.

The sun was high and shining its little heart out, warm beams heating his skin and (hopefully) stripping away the last of his winter pale. He’d rolled up the colorful sleeves of his T for just that reason, even if the rest of the Avengers liked to give him shit for it. Something about that simple gesture made Bucky feel more aware of his body than ever. The way the occasional breeze made gooseflesh break across his skin. The colorful braided bracelet tickling his inner wrist and the long ends of his hair…okay, well, truthfully, that was starting to get goddamned annoying, but, yeah, overall?

Everything was pretty much perfect.

Of course, most of that was probably due to the fact that he was _finally_ back home, in his shitty cabin with his shitty best friends in the whole wide world, and the summer was spread wide open and endless ahead of them.

He stepped over a broken branch, combat boots sinking a half-inch deep into mud. Hell. He’d even missed the shitty _nature_ of all this…nature. _The Great Outdoors_ , Steve liked to say, taking in a deep breath, as if his little lungs could hold it all in. _And not a bit of smog in sight._

He wondered what Steve was up to now? Probably stripping down to those indecently short blue trunks and diving into the lake. Sometimes Bucky swore Steve was part fish. A merman. A really scrawny, mouthy little shit of a merman who liked to start fights with all the local crabs, and—

“You’re smiling,” Natasha said, letting their shoulders bump together. There was a knowing bit of smug to her voice.

Bucky shot her a glare, even as he reached out to swat a branch out of their way. “No I’m not,” he said, falling (too late) into his usual neutral glower.

Natasha was too smart to fall for that. “And _blushing_. I’d ask who you were thinking about, but we both know the answer to that.” She laughed when he let go of the branch just a second too late to catch her in the face with it. _Damn,_ she was quick. “Whatever you were picturing, it must’ve been good.”

“I hate you,” he said; he could actually feel his ears heating up. Because yeah, maybe his thoughts had been innocent enough, but it didn’t take a lot of waggling red brows to get totally platonic images of Steve splashing through the water turning something a little, uh, well… Those swim trunks were _unreasonably_ short, and Steve wore each prismatic drop of water like a sunlit crown. Nothing was hotter than Steve flicking wet hair out of his eyes and beckoning Bucky to _come on in, the water’s just fine._

But it wasn’t like he was going to _admit_ any of that, even as his blush darkened and darkened and Nat just about tripped over a root laughing at him.

“No, seriously,” Bucky muttered, shoving his hands deep into his jeans pockets. “You’re the fucking worst best friend I’ve ever had. Tony would be better than you.”

“Now you’ve gone and hurt my feelings,” she said, not sounding hurt in the least. But she bumped their shoulders together again, letting her slight weight rest against his for a long minute, and it wasn’t like he could stay ticked with her long. She was just so… _Nat._

She’d twined her preferred colors (grey and light orange) through her hair, the braids Clint had so carefully plaited pulled into a complicated knot. She wore a long-sleeved black shirt beneath her camp T and just enough makeup to make her eyes sly and smoky. The little smile hadn’t left her mouth. It was all so different from city-Nat, though he had a hell of a time putting his finger on the individual changes. Maybe it was something about the relaxed set of her shoulders. Maybe it was nothing at all. Maybe he was just projecting.

…maybe he was starting to sound like Sam in his own head, jfc.

“C’mon,” he said, trying to shove out the clamoring thoughts and focus back on simpler things like the heat of the day. The scent of pine. The distant sound of laughter and kids calling out to each other. “Let’s cut through and head to the lake.”

“Hm, yes,” she said, instinctively matching her stride to his. “I wonder who we’ll find _there?_ ”

Bucky shot her a look. “Stop,” he said, though the corners of his own mouth twitched even as his cheeks flared hotter. Christ, he needed to get that reflexive blush under control before it got him in real trouble. “Climbing up my ass about all this isn’t going to make anything happen.”

“I’m not sure I’m willing to take a bet on that. Besides,” Natasha said, “there are other people you’d rather have climbing up your ass, right?”

That was _not_ an image he needed to invite into his head. There were too many other thoughts like that—dangerous thoughts, heated thoughts, invading his dreams and chasing him awake hard and panting—clamoring about his noggin. Bucky grunted, ignoring her flashing grin, and hurried his pace so she couldn’t read everything in his expression. “Real funny,” he muttered, burning up inside no matter how hard he fought against it.

“You know, running away isn’t ever going to get you anywhere,” Natasha pointed out, dogging close to his heels—agile as a deer compared to his lumbering bear. Branches snapped beneath his boots, leaves whipped against his shoulders, and his head was as full of white noise as he could make it, as if he could drown the thoughts one by one. “You’ve been running all year and it’s still led you here.”

“Very fucking wise, Confucius,” Bucky muttered, slapping aside a whippy little branch as he stormed into a small clearing. “But you don’t—”

Bucky jerked to a stop, indignant words swallowed up in a single sucking breath as his gaze swept the shadow-dappled glade and caught sight of… “Holy shit,” he whispered.

Natasha had managed to stop without running into the broad plane of his back, springing to his side with the momentum. She followed his gobsmacked gaze across the clearing, toward a cozy little copse on the other side. Here a tangle of vegetation grew up over the huge above-ground roots of the old trees, making a sort of natural lean-to.  Three sides were all but covered, snowy white and pale violet flowers dotting the darker shades of green on green on green.

And there, curled in the center of that living bouquet, limbs tangled and hands wandering over _oh fucking hell_ naked chests were…

Natasha gave a near-silent whistle. “Well it looks like Steve’s latest lost lamb found his footing _real_ fast,” she murmured.

Bucky wanted to look away. He really did. He didn’t get off on the sight of two guys going at it hot and heavy, even if one of them was blonde-haired and the other one dark. The sizes were flipped around too obviously for him to even picture that it was him and—

_Don’t. Fucking. Go. There._

He whirled around on his heel, facing off into the forest, when Billy rose on his knees to straddle the big blond’s waist. “Yeah, looks like he found something real fast,” he muttered. “Is that Altman? I can’t even look to make sure.”

Natasha snorted, snagging his elbow and towing him safely away from the couple—both of whom were still so wrapped up in each other that they hadn’t noticed the unsubtle intrusion. “Is there really any doubt?” she said. “Something was obviously going on there from the minute we arrived.” She tilted her head, leading him back the way they’d come. “Though I’ll admit, I thought they’d spend a little longer dancing around each other before Billy made his move.”

“Maybe the right moment just came up,” Bucky said with a broad shrug.

“Or _maybe_ ,” Natasha said with a pointed look, “he’s just not as chickenshit as some guys I know.”

Bucky let out a harsh breath. “Are we really going to keep doing this?” he demanded. He was starting to regret ever telling her about his feelings—slow and confused and _confusing_ , perled out of him over the course of one long city night.

 _I’m in love with my best friend._ It was so cliché there were actual songs about it. No, fuck that, it was so cliché there were whole fucking _albums_ , and it didn’t matter how hard he tried to fight it or how much he told himself it was a bad, bad idea. Shaking Steve from his thoughts was like trying to get prickleburrs out of your clothes. The more you pulled, the more tangled those little spines got, and the more threads you snagged along the way.

Except replace _threads_ with everything that had ever mattered to Bucky about his relationship with Steve. The way they could be quiet together without any pressure or fuss. The way Steve was willing to lean on him—not just figuratively, when he wasn’t being a stubborn cuss, but literally too. Steve didn’t have that filter some boys got pounded into them growing up, and the way he smiled and leaned and touched and—

It was just, it was so important to Bucky, who was still fumbling along trying to figure out how to show just how much he cared about his friends. _He’d_ been whammied plenty hard by all that crap about what boys could or couldn’t do, and yeah, sure, he was unlearning the bullshit, but sometimes it felt like stripping away old pieces of armor he hadn’t realized he’d donned. Or… Or like in that book Steve was so obsessed with when they were kids. The one with the lion, raking its nails down the dragon’s back, tearing away chunks of scale and flesh and blood until he’d reached the boy buried deep inside. Or…

Bucky tripped over Natasha’s expertly placed foot, losing his balance just long enough to go stumbling forward but not so much that he face-planted in poison ivy or whatever.

He caught himself against a tree, one hand braced against rough bark and the other thrust out to help keep his balance. He could _feel_ her laughing at him—the harpy—a prickle running down his spine as he slowly pushed himself up and around.

Natasha stood just out of range of possible retaliation, arms crossed over her chest. Both brows were arched this time, the amused curl of her lips particularly catlike. “You know,” she said, “all this would probably go faster if you just admitted you were nuts about him.”

Bucky dusted bits of bark and moss off his palms. “Uh, I hate to tell you this, Nat, but I already _have_ admitted it,” he said. “I told you at least—”

She simply waved him off before he could finish. “I don’t mean tell _me_ ,” she said. “I meant tell _him._ Tell Steve exactly how you feel.”

“I told you why I couldn’t do that too,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the way they shook. They always shook a little—he shook a little—whenever they talked about this. No matter how much he wanted to shed all those years of bullshit and be more like Steve, he still couldn’t completely erase the feeling like he wasn’t supposed to be saying any of this. That he wasn’t supposed to be…hell, vulnerable or something.

And the fact that he did keep curling up a little inside whenever Natasha pushed—and the fact that his hands trembled like the leaves above them, rustling in the summer breeze—and the fact that, well, this was Natasha, and if he couldn’t be honest about himself at queer camp with _Natasha_ , then where could he?—was enough to have him adding, “I’m in love with him. I’ve been in love with him for years. From even before I understood there were different kinds of love. But fucked if I know how to say anything about it without ruining everything.”

Talking had always been what he did worst. It had always been the thing holding him back. The emotion was there, but the words were ephemeral, drifting away like smoke before he could even suck in a breath.

There was no confession he could make that would translate exactly how he felt; it would all come out weird and twisted up and hollow. _Shallow_ -sounding, like he wasn’t head over nuts crazy for Steve, and, yeah, maybe it was cowardly of him, but he’d rather not say anything at all than risk saying the wrong thing and having it all blow up in his face.

“The words aren’t there for this kind of thing,” Bucky said, willing Natasha to understand. “I’m not sure they’ve even been invented yet.”

“Then don’t _use_ words,” Natasha shot back. She stepped forward, nearly in his face, all that joking levity gone. There was a serious glint to her eyes—something that told him she meant business. “If you can’t figure out what to say, then don’t say a damn thing. Tell him in some other way.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bucky began hotly, starting to turn away.

She lightly punched his shoulder, forcing him back square with her. “Refusing to try doesn’t make any sense,” she said. “If you don’t go after what you want—”

Bucky snarled and turned away, his (trembling) hands curled into fists at his sides. His boots ground delicate sprigs of flowers into the ground as he began to stalk away. He’d rather have slyly grinning Natasha back. She may have been driving him nuts with jokes and innuendos, but at least she wasn’t riding his ass.

He’d go back to the room, he decided. Flop down onto his bunk and take a nap. Maybe when he pried open his eyes again, the day would have flipped back into something more bearable.

…but he should have known better than to assume that just because he walked away, Natasha was done twisting knives in his side. “Fine,” she said, easily catching up to him despite his longer stride. He glared ahead of him, ignoring flashes of red hair out of his peripheral vision. “Be scared and deny yourself what you want. But are you willing to deny Steve what _he_ wants?”

Bucky grit his teeth, but slowed. His nails bit eight perfect half-moons into the meat of his palms. He didn’t, wouldn’t, ask what she meant.

Natasha didn’t need to be asked—not when she sensed victory. “I was sworn to pretty much every kind of secrecy there is,” she said, drawling the words a little as if she weren’t uncomfortable spilling someone else’s secrets. She acted like she didn’t care about honor amongst friends, but Bucky knew from long experience that she took everything between them to heart. She had to be desperate to be willing to betray a confidence. If he were a better person, he’d stop her right there—save her the trouble of wiping red out of her ledger.

He _wasn’t_ a better person.

“Sam wasn’t even supposed to tell me. He let it slip, and _he’ll_ feel like shit, too, when I tell him I told you. But…” She let out a sharp puff of breath, stopping beneath the shade of a broad-leafed tree. Bucky swung around to look at her, no more able to leave now than he’d be able to…fuck, fly or shoot lasers out of his ass or find the words to tell Steve the sun rose and set on his smiles or whatever. “You know,” Natasha said simply, shaking her head and looking straight up at him, meeting his eyes. Raw honesty at its finest. “You’re not the only idiot pining away for his best friend.”

 _That’s a damn lie_ , he didn’t say. He wasn’t sure he _could_ say, because even as she said the words, they curled around his heart and head. But did they ring true because he wanted so desperately for them to be true, or because they were?

And wasn’t that always the problem?

“…Sam told you?” Bucky said instead, voice coming out all kinds of wrong. Rusty, like he’d forgotten how to speak between one breath and another. “Sam told you Steve had a…a thing for me?”

“Yeah,” she said, crossing her arms defensively. Offensively? Didn’t matter. She wasn’t looking away, and while Natasha was handy with a lie when she had to be, she rarely felt like she had to be _anything_ with him. That’s why they were so close. “Steve’s been asking him how he should deal with it—with the fact that he _wants_ you.”

Bucky wet his lower lip. “Wants—” he began.

She shot him a look. “Not just for sex, Barnes, Jesus fuck. This is _Steve Rogers_ we’re talking about.”

Weirdly, that got his back up. “Hey,” Bucky snapped, “Steve’s not some painted angel, you know. That little shit’s the…the…shittiest little shit I’ve ever met. He’d start fights with Jesus Goddamn Christ if he swanned into town and looked at someone funny. He can think with his dick just like the rest of us.”

“God save me from idiots in love,” Natasha said, reaching up to pat Bucky’s cheek just shy of too hard. “Bucky. That wasn’t what I was trying to say.”

“Oh yeah?” he demanded, crossing his arms. “Then what were you trying to say?”

She shook her head. “That whether or not his _dick’s_ involved,” the way she said the word almost made him laugh despite the tendrils of anger and confusion and hope webbing their way through the ungainly riot of his body, “he’s always going to be led by his heart. And his heart’s set on crashing right into you, so you’d better get your shit together before we’ve got a real mess on our hands.”

“I’ve got to get _my_ shit together?” Bucky said, mostly by reflex. Giving Natasha hell was as much tradition as a stalling technique to give his own heart and brain (and yeah, fine, cock) time to sort themselves out. “Why’s it on me?”

He should have known Natasha would have an answer waiting for him. “Because at your cores, Steve’s the idealist,” she said, looking up at him with an expression that seemed torn between challenge and compassion. Like she was shoving him right out of the nest and praying he didn’t break his fool head on the way down. “You’re the realist. And to be honest, we all need to believe that the world can look like a fairy tale now and again.”

Somehow, some way, those words worked where nothing else did. It was like a key unlocking some walled off part of his brain—the part of him that wanted to protect people, to help people. To give everyone what they Goddamn deserved…and yeah, maybe that included himself too.

 _The world needs a few more happily ever afters,_ his grandpa had said to him once. He couldn’t even remember why, or what it was all about, but it’d stuck in his grey matter all this time. Waiting, he guessed, for this moment to come roaring out of him, changing everything in its wake.

Natasha must have read the change in him. She gave him another little shove, ignoring his dumbfounded expression. “Well go on then,” Natasha added. “Go be prince charming or something.”

 And Bucky…

Bucky _did_ , stumbling back a few steps, black combat boots scuffing up the dirt and soft carpet of grass. He felt weirdly dizzy, but powerful too, as if her words were the magic spell unfreezing years of longing and gah, shit, damn, did she _really_ have to get in his head with all that romantic Disney bullshit? She knew he was a sucker for it every time.

“I hate you,” he called over his shoulder, already making a beeline for the cabin. Steve would be there; he suddenly knew that, deep in his bones, the way his grandpa used to tell an oncoming storm. Steve would be waiting for him, just like he always was. “So damn much.”

“Yup!” Natasha called back, a laugh shivering under the word. She didn’t follow—job well-done, he supposed—as he ducked under a branch and skirted around a bush and generally plowed his way through Mother Nature back to the Avenger’s cabin.

 _I’m going to tell him_ , he thought, heart pounding out all the words he’d been swallowing back for so long. _I’m finally, finally going to tell him._ And Steve would…

…he had no idea what Steve would say, but it’d be something good, and right, and it’d taste wonderful going down as Bucky framed his jaw and finally took that kiss that had been waiting for him there all along. He’d swallow his first moan as greedy as you please but let him have the second—loud enough to make them both shiver and press together, making up for lost time.

_I’m going to tell him. I’m going to tell him. I’m going to—_

He blitzed past Clint and Phil sitting on a bench, pretending like they weren’t in the middle of one of their endless make-ups. He ducked when he passed Tony on the path, spinning out of the other boy’s reach with a single finger raised high. Usually he would’ve stopped, shot the shit a bit, but he felt like the gun had been fired and he was off to the races and _I’m going to tell him, I’m going to tell him, I’m going to finally motherfucking tell him_.

He vaulted up the steps, taking them two at a time, and slammed into the cabin, whole chest alight with hope. Steve startled to his feet, wearing his camp t-shirt and _those fucking tiny shorts_ and an amused smile the moment their eyes connected.

“You scared me,” he chided, though he didn’t look scared. He looked…

 _Good_ , a quiet part of Bucky whispered, the screen door banging shut behind him. Steve looked _good_ , and God, it was a relief to be able to just drink him in, knowing that at any moment, confessions would be made and and and this, this thing between them, would finally become something.

He was small, yeah, and gorgeous. Legs pale and bare, golden light catching on the fine hairs down his calves, his thighs. He’d left his shoes off, and even the awkward way his toes splayed across the bare floorboards made Bucky’s heart do an irregular thump. Add in the sweep of his hair, those devilish-earnest eyes, the dimple that flashed at the corner of his mouth, those _fucking freckles_ that seemed to pop out of nowhere the second summer kissed his skin…

Just, just, _fuck_. He was so fucking gone for this boy, and for the first time, Bucky let it be all over his face. He didn’t try to hide it. He didn’t try to lie. He just drank Steve in like he’d been dying of thirst for years—watching as amusement slowly turned to confusion, then curiosity, then dawning comprehension in the silence of the cabin.

The moment Steve understood everything Bucky was feeling practically crystalized between them, and Bucky swore he’d remember it forever. The little noise Steve made, blue eyes flaring wide. The _thud-ump thud-ump_ of the ceiling fan. The gooseflesh that crawled up his skin and made the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end. The distant sound of laughter and splashing around and wind through the trees as if all of True Colors were cheering them on.

“Bucky,” Steve said, voice pitched low, as if they were on their own frequency. “I— We’re not—”

“I love you,” Bucky said, all in a rush. Needing to get the words out before they got stuck again somehow. His hungry eyes never left Steve’s face. “I’ve loved you since I was a kid. I think I’ve always fucking loved you. I swear I’m always _going_ to love you, and, uh, I know I’m shit at this, but I just needed you to know that I… I want you, and I want to be, uh, wanted by you, and I want to be yours and, um. Shit. Disney stuff.”

Christ, that could have come out better, couldn’t it?

He flapped his hand when Steve opened his mouth again. “I know, I know,” Bucky said. “That was terrible. But if you give me a chance, I can get better.” He licked his bottom lip and thrilled— _thrilled!_ —at the way Steve’s gaze dropped to follow the motion. “I’ll always try to be better for you.”

“Bucky,” Steve said again, sounding punched-out now, as if they’d gone a few rounds in the ring. “I…” He trailed off helplessly, winced, then glanced to his side. Bucky followed his gaze.

Sam—perched up on his bunk like a fucking bird, looking awkward as hell—cleared his throat. “I think what Steve’s trying to say here is,” he said, “maybe let me make my not-so-graceful escape before you get any further, man.”

Everything sort of whited out at that point.

“…oh,” Bucky said, not fully comprehending. Not really needing to. His lizard brain was shouting at him to _abort abort_ , insides curdling up at the wincing pity on Wilson’s face. He’d finally torn his chest open and showed it to Steve, but he’d never imagined anyone would be there to witness it, and he just, he couldn’t just, he had to, this was all just shit shit shit all around and yeah, fuck, _ABORT_.

“Okayfuckwhatever,” Bucky said in a rush, turning on his heel and _bolting_. The screen door slammed open, shut, reverberating almost as loud as his racing heart as he heard something that sounded awfully like his name being shouted.

Or maybe that was just the wind. God knew he was running fast enough for it to steal everything but the memory of Steve’s little wince, there at the end of his confession.

 _So much for romance novels_ , Bucky thought, barreling through the camp like he could outrun his own mortification. _And so much for fucking fairy tales._

So much, it turned out, for _happily ever after_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gay: Red  
> Lesbian: Purple  
> Bisexual: Blue  
> Transgender: Turquoise  
> Pansexual: Yellow  
> Asexual: Grey  
> Genderfluid: Green  
> Orange: Aromantic
> 
> And many, many more. No matter where you are on the rainbow spectrum, you have a place at True Colors.


	11. Steve

He hadn’t felt this good in weeks. _Months_. Ever since last summer lost its grip on him, and _God_ but it was great to be home.

“That’s the spirit, man,” Sam said approvingly, shifting at his high perch on the upper bunk. He grinned down at Steve, who couldn’t help but grin back just as sunnily, even though he was too relaxed to have much left to say. It was still early in the day. The cabin lights were out and the high ceiling fans were on, disturbing drifting motes of dust as they were caught, suspended in endless streams of sunlight. They _danced_ , slow and dreamlike and mundane enough to be almost poetic, like something out of a movie.

_Wes Anderson, eat your heart out._

Steve chuffed a laugh as he lazily looked around, taking in every detail with a cinematic eye. The room was dim yet golden, the way his memories of this place always seemed to be: cast in shades of yellow and green and blue, a summer rainbow always there waiting for his inevitable return. No matter how hard the school year could be or how, well, crappy he could feel suffering through the hard New York winters, all he had to do was flip through his memories of this haven and he’d be bathed again in rays of light.

He supposed he’d always have this place, tucked deep inside his thoughts. He’d be eighty years old and remember this exact moment. The _wsh wsh_ of the fan. Sam licking his thumb as he idly turned the pages of his comic. Striations of sunlight across his skin and the way his swim trunks sat across his hips and thighs; screaming laughter drifted from the nearby lake, and God but this really was worth remembering forever. He wished he could bottle up this feeling and save it alongside the perfect movie-still memories.

Impossible, maybe, but even still, he couldn’t help but grin and relax into the start of another perfect summer. He had weeks ahead of him. Maybe, in that funny way of early summer when all roads were open and the possibilities seemed endless, he had a whole lifetime.

Yeah. Yeah, _that’s the spirit all right_ , Steve thought, and let his tense muscles uncoil one by one by one.

“Did you want to come swimming?” he asked to break the comfortable silence, tipping his head against the high back of the chair to look up at Sam. It was a question that didn’t really need an answer; they’d been in this exact same moment (or close enough it couldn’t help but count) so many times Steve could recite the lines in his sleep.

“Sure,” Sam said easily, turning another page. “Lemme just finish this up. Ten minutes, tops.”

Steve hummed agreement and settled in to wait. It wasn’t a hardship. The pleasure of cold water closing in over his head—of his friends shrieking a greeting—of laps around the lake’s perimeter and games of Chicken Fight and Tony loudly claiming control of the radio no matter how much Clint bitched—were magnified rather than diminished by time. It was better to let the anticipation build beneath his rolling sense of relaxation, so that when the time came to cannonball off the dock, it would be like bursting through a dam. An elemental joy, a whoop of pure freedom, a—

There was a pound of boots against creaking wood, loud as a round of gunshots seconds before the door was flung open. Steve jolted to his feet, heart leaping in something like fear before settling instantly at the sight of Bucky standing there, silhouetted by the sun.

He was broad enough to fill the doorway, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular arms, brown hair a messy tangle about his face. Bucky’s eyes zeroed in on Steve instantly, and Steve found himself beginning to smile again, unable to help it: the sight of Bucky always seemed to make his stomach dip and swoop. It didn’t matter that they saw each other nearly every _day_.

“You scared me,” Steve chided, smile beginning to spread into a reflexive grin.

Bucky didn’t answer. It was almost like he couldn’t answer, tongue dried to the roof of his mouth, eyes tracking over Steve slowly. Steve was used to Bucky looking at him like that. They were best friends—the kind of _best_ that went beyond the usual and into something special, something rare. Brothers, maybe, except Steve had never particularly felt _brotherly_ emotion when it came to Bucky. He was always too… Too…

Well. Too _hot_ , and kind, and wonderful, and confusing—a whole mixed-up ball of hope and possibility and off-limits. Forbidden fruit in human form, except Steve had more sense than to try to lean forward and take a bite. There wasn’t anything worth risking Bucky’s friendship over, no matter how much he, he, he _yearned_. So he pushed the electric hum of appreciation away and smiled his usual smile and waited for Bucky to say why he’d raced in like the devil was at his heels.

Only…Bucky didn’t say anything.

He didn’t look away.

He didn’t break the subtle tension between them the way he always, always did.

Steve felt a rash of gooseflesh creep up his arms and down his bare thighs as Bucky’s dark lashes flickered. He was used to Bucky giving him the once-over, sure, but that had always been a protective gesture: Bucky making sure he was warm enough, comfortable enough, safe enough. This? This had nothing to do with comfort. It was all… _heat_ , like the summer sun had gotten caught in his eyes, blazing out strong enough to have Steve’s stomach flipping in reflexive response. Bucky’s lips parted, and his tongue darted out to wet the corner, and _holy fuck_ just the sight of that flash of pink was enough to have Steve boiling in his camp T-shirt.

Bucky was looking at him like he _wanted_ him. Like he wanted to stomp across the old floorboards and dig his fingers into Steve’s hair and lift his face for a hungry sort of kiss. Like he wanted to drop to his knees and wrest open his trunks with his _teeth_.

Steve could see that, feel that—unexpected and enough to have his breath stuttering in his chest in response—licking through his body. Coiling low in his belly and, oh, he was starting to get just a little hard from that possessive sweep of Bucky’s eyes. If Bucky _said_ anything in that perfect growly baritone, it’d all be over; he’d be _sunk_. The secret would be out between them, clear as day: _I never thought of you as my brother because what I want from you goes a heck of a lot deeper than that._

But…if Bucky was looking at him _like that_ , then maybe he’d figured out the secret anyway. And maybe he was okay with it; maybe he was more than okay; maybe all that teasing their friends gave about them being perfect for each other wasn’t all that dangerous after all, because maybe Bucky felt the same dang way.

Hell. Wasn’t that a revelation?

_I want you too_. He could see the words on Bucky’s face, sudden and clear as if they’d been written there in colored Sharpie. And even bigger, ever better, shining so bright Steve was dazzled by it: _I love you too._

He took a half-step back, stunned, _awed_ by Bucky’s silent confession. It was all so raw and real, writ plainly across a face that never showed _anything_ if Bucky could help it. The fact that Steve was seeing all this so easily now had to mean Bucky was letting him. Bucky _wanted_ him to know. He was… He was tired of hiding it, maybe. Tired of swallowing it all back and pretending. And Steve, God, Steve was tired of holding it back too. Bucky _loved him_ , and he loved Bucky, and all at once the thousand and one little doubts that had kept him from admitting as much fell away like shattered glass. He was so stupid to have held back so long. He was so stupid to think they could possibly risk their friendship—there was nothing strong enough to break what they had.

_Oh_ , he thought, filled up with brimming emotion even as he struggled to keep it in check. Aware, the way Bucky was not, that they weren’t alone. _Oh oh oh._

Bucky opened his mouth as if to begin this confession that had been such a long time coming, but Steve spoke before he could start. God, but Bucky would be mortified if he plucked any of these silent truths out and gave them shape, only to realize _Sam_ had been there all along. Bucky was so private; Steve couldn’t let that happen to him.

“ _Bucky_ ,” he said, pitching his voice low as if somehow that could keep poor Sam from overhearing. “I—We’re not—”

And of course, for once—this one time it was vital—Bucky refused to follow his lead.  “I love you,” he said, all in a rush, as if he were in a race to get it out. Steve almost winced, even as his heart started racing triple-time. This was everything he’d always wanted, and yet he could see the disaster coming a mile away. He could see the _crash_ when Bucky looked up and realized they weren’t alone and everything shattered. “I’ve loved you since I was a kid,” Bucky kept saying, not sensing the way Steve tensed, not letting him open his mouth in warning. The most private kid Steve knew, and _this_ was how all their years of circling around each other went down. “I think I’ve always fucking loved you.”

Bucky took a step forward, and there was such a bright light of conviction shining in his eyes that Steve almost stepped forward too. He was just that magnetic—or maybe it was more accurate to say that they’d both been _magnetized_ , seeking each other again and again despite everything. God. His heart was coming out of his chest. “I swear I’m always _going_ to love you,” Bucky said, all artifice stripped away, “and, uh, I know I’m shit at this, but I just needed you to know that I…” He wet his lip, then rushed on when Steve tried to say his name, “I want you, and I want to be, uh, wanted by you, and I want to be yours and um. Shit. Disney stuff.”

_Disney stuff?_

As declarations went, it wasn’t the most graceful, and yet Steve felt like he’d fallen backwards into some romantic flick. One with starbursts of color and shining skies and smiles so wide they hurt to see. He wanted to tip forward—to _race_ into Bucky’s arms—and kiss that stupid shy look off his best friend’s face. He wanted to launch up into his arms and wrap skinny legs around his hips and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until neither of them could breathe…then kiss him some more for good measure. He _wanted this_ so bad it ached.

Bucky flapped a hand before Steve could say anything. “I know, I know,” he said, wincing. “That was terrible.” _No,_ Steve wanted to protest, _that was wonderful_. “But if you give me a chance, I can get better.” His tongue darted out, swiping his lower lip; Steve couldn’t help but follow the path with his gaze. He flushed even as he did it, electrified and ashamed and…and wanting so very bad. “I’ll always try to be better for you,” Bucky finished, low and deliciously throaty.

God.

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve managed, feeling a thousand miles outside of himself. His breath was already coming fast, and he wanted so very, very badly. Just, just all of it; he wanted _all_ of it. “I…” He stopped, uncertain what to say, and cast a quick, guilty look over toward Sam.

Sam—perched up on his bunk, legs drawn up and eyes awkwardly wide—cleared his throat. He looked absolutely miserable to have been caught in the middle of this thing that had been so long coming. “I think what Steve’s trying to say here is,” Sam said slowly, “maybe let me make my not-so-graceful escape before you get any further, man.”

There was a long, painful beat of silence. Then: “…oh,” Bucky said, quietly. Raggedly, as if he’d been punched in the solar plexus. He took a stumbling step back, all color draining slowly slowly slowly from his cheeks, leaving his face, his lips, every bit of skin milk white.

“Bucky,” Steve tried to say, tried to stop the meltdown he could _see_ going on behind Bucky’s eyes. But Bucky was already turning on his heel with an, “ _Okayfuckwhatever_ ,” words blurring as he _bolted_ from the room. He slammed outside, cabin door swinging shut with a _bang_ that reverberated through Steve like its own sort of blow. Like a shot taken to the gut, leaving him shocked-still and gasping and trembling in the aftermath.

What…

What had just _happened?_

He turned his head to stare up at Sam, who was looking right back down at him with an exaggerated wince. “Sorry,” Sam said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and dropping down to his feet. “Sorry, man. If I had known that was coming, I would have…I would have wiggled out the window the second I had a chance. Hell.”

Hell. That was right. _Hell_. Because years of careful silence had suddenly been shattered—Bucky taking this thing between them and chucking it to the ground in that way he sometimes had—and Steve was left holding the metaphorical bag. Stunned and confused and yearning and…

And Bucky had literally just _run away_. Bolted as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.

“What,” Steve said slowly, turning his stare to the screen door. It was still rattling on its hinges, not yet settled. He swore he could almost see the dust clouds from how quickly Bucky had run away from him. “The. Hell?”

Sam clapped him on the shoulder with friendly warmth. “I know, right? Took him long enough.”

He instinctively hunched inward, used to deflecting his friends’ good-natured ribbing, but… But he didn’t have to do that anymore, did he? Whatever else had just happened, Bucky had pulled the pin out of this grenade they’d been so carefully guarding for so long, and the whole thing was exploding in slow motion. There was no point pretending he wasn’t stupid in love with his best friend _now_ , so all Steve did was let out a ragged breath and say again, “What the _hell_?”

Sam gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Come on, then,” he said, endlessly fond. “Pick up your jaw and get those skinny legs moving. I bet you can still catch him if you hurry.”

That startled a laugh out of Steve—because in what universe could he catch up with Bucky in anything outside his mind?—but on the end of the surprised huff of breath came a strange sense of determination. Yeah. _Yeah_ , Sam wasn’t half wrong, at least in the idea if not the inevitable execution. Because Bucky may have exploded this grenade everywhere, but that didn’t mean Steve had to stay behind and wait for the aftermath, whatever it might be.

The truth was out there, and Bucky was running like hell from it, as if he could escape the blast. As if, maybe if he ran fast enough, he could rewind time and take it all back.

Well. Not on Steve’s watch.

He launched himself forward, not bothering to reply; he’d have to save every precious breath if he wanted a chance to catch up with Bucky. Bucky was _strong_ , but he wasn’t particularly fast. In a short enough race, Steve could outrun him nine times out of ten. (Even though eight of those times saw him sucking down his asthma medicine, choking on his victory as Bucky ran a big palm in worried circles over his back.) Sam laughed as Steve slammed out of the cabin, yelling, “Go get him, Cap!” at the top of his lungs.

Campers stopped to stare as Steve went flying out, leaping over the steps and landing graceful as a gazelle on the crunch of gravel. He darted a glance around, spotting startled people in tie-dye shirts further down the path, away from the lake—he could practically see Road Runner plumes of smoke in Bucky’s path.

“’Scuze me,” Steve said, darting around a bemused Thor, and began the chase in earnest.

It felt…amazing, actually: the wind in his hair, drying the beads of sweat that kept wanting to pop up along his brow. The instant fullness of his lungs, the rat-a-tat of his heartbeat, and kiss of sunlight across his cheeks. Summer was alive all around him, _green_ in a way the city never could be, vibrant and thrumming beneath his pounding feet as he ran, he _ran_.

There was a stitch in his side almost immediately and his legs wanted to feel rubbery, but he kept pushing—head dropping down and teeth grit in determination as he steadily gained on Bucky. This—this—this was _not_ going to end like this. The longer he let Bucky hole away and lick his wounds, the farther away he’d be the next time he came out of hiding, and Steve wasn’t going to—Steve was—Steve—

Steve was having a hell of a time breathing.

“Buck,” he tried to call out, word catching in his throat, gone raspy and low. He coughed, sputtered, burst of incredible speed already waning as his body gave up on him. He was close enough to Bucky’s trail that the red dust was still rising in his wake, staining the whites of his shoes, but, but, _hell_ , he wasn’t going to make it—he’d started too late, waited too long.

_The story of our life, isn’t it?_ Steve thought…then grit his teeth against the curl of pessimism before shoving those useless doubts aside. He dug his nails into his palms and _forced_ himself into a second wind, feet practically flying over the winding path. The lead disappeared by slow, _painful_ degrees, each win stolen from his heaving lungs, stretched tissue-thin, it felt, in his heaving chest. Whatever. He’d deal with it later—now there was only the fierce determination blazing through him as he narrowed the distance between them to thirty feet. Twenty. Fifteen.

Bucky must have heard him—or maybe he just had a second sense for whenever Steve was near. Whatever it was, he glanced over his shoulder just as Steve was losing that second wind. Dark eyes hit his, then went _wide_ in shock, in recognition, in worry, in full mother hen _fury_. Bucky skid to a stop, digging in one heel as he slid against the gravel, sending up clouds of dust like they really were in some ridiculous cartoon. He spun as he did it, skittering back a few steps as he regained his balance, _just_ in time to catch Steve full against his chest—because, oh God, there really was no time for Steve to slow down now, and they were going to—

_BAM_!

—slam together in a wild tangle of limbs. Steve’s teeth clicked together at the impact, legs gone out from under him as he fell, only to be caught against Bucky’s bigger, broader body. Caged, _protected_ , because whatever else happened between them, Bucky would always, always be there to protect him.

Even if he didn’t want to be protected.

_Especially_ if he didn’t want to be protected.

“Stevie, Jesus,” Bucky was muttering, trying to keep them both from toppling over or knocking their fool skulls or whatever else they probably deserved. Those big hands caught at Steve’s hips and hauled him close; he could feel the thrill of it even as the rest of him zeroed down on the absolute imperative need for oxygen. God, he couldn’t suck it in fast enough. “ _Jesus_ , what did you think you were doing, running like that?”

Steve tried to roll his eyes up at Bucky, but Bucky just shook his head. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, “you can run all you want, fine, but, fuck.” He slid a hand up, soothing circles between the sharp wings of Steve’s shoulderblades. Logically Steve knew the familiar gesture shouldn’t have been able to help him breathe any better, but it worked like a charm; already, he could feel the rabbit-fast race of his heart slowing, could really appreciate the fact that he was clasped tight in Bucky’s arms.

Well he really couldn’t have planned this any better, could he?

“You okay?” Bucky asked, apparently missing all the signs that Steve was relaxing against him. _Melting_ , taking in the delicious bulk of his muscles paired with the innate tenderness of his touch. God, he couldn’t believe he was so lucky. He couldn’t believe this was finally actually allowed to _happen_ ; he’d wanted, so much. “Do you need your inhaler?”

Steve just shook his head, soaking him in, silent. He slid his arms around Bucky’s neck, and even that increased intimacy wasn’t enough to clue him in to the way the moment had shifted. They were standing out in the open, near the entrance to the camp, in full view of anyone and everyone (and considering the dramatic chase, Steve mused, _everyone_ sounded more and more likely.) Bucky’s one hand on his hip, the other braced at his spine; Steve’s skinny arms hooked around his neck; their bodies flushed together and faces tipped toward each other, and _any moment now_ Bucky just had to realize they were basically reenacting one of the covers of those books he pretended he didn’t love to read. All Steve needed was a tumble of long hair and a dress falling conveniently off his shoulders as he looked up into Bucky’s eyes and began to grin.

_Come on, then_ , he thought. _Kiss me like one of your romance heroines._

A spark lit deep in Bucky’s eyes as worry faded into something a little hotter and a metric ton more embarrassed. He started to pull back, but Steve held on tight, digging his nails into the impressive breadth of his shoulders. “Steve,” Bucky began, voice rough. He was _blushing_ , right up to the roots of his hair. Even his ears were going red.

“Bucky,” Steve parroted, then grinned—wide and a little reckless. “So, you didn’t exactly give me a chance to respond back there.”

Bucky sucked in a breath and tried to wriggle back; Steve stepped on his foot trying to keep close, clamping around him like a determined spidery monkey. _No_ , he was not letting go. Not until they’d had this talk. “You didn’t give me a chance to respond back there,” Steve continued stubbornly, refusing to be put off. “If you had, you would’ve gotten an earful. About making me _wait so long_ ,” he added when Bucky flinched, “when all this time, we could’ve been _together_.”

That was enough to make Bucky go still. His cheeks were still a bright red, but his breath had caught and he was _staring_ at Steve as if seeing him for the first time.

Steve took advantage of the moment to press closer, up on his tip-toes—forehead against Bucky’s, breaths mingling, bodies close. The sun beat down around their shoulders, and he was aware of a slowly growing audience soaking in the drama, but God, he didn’t _care_.

“You have to know,” he murmured, “that I love you too.” Bucky made a soft, torn noise that speared right into Steve’s heart. It hurt, but it was the good kind of hurt—the kind that promised healing to come. He kept going, reckless. “Of _course_ I do. I always have. I always _will_. I love you, and I want to be with you, and I can’t believe it took us this long to get our heads out of our butts and—”

Bucky didn’t let him finish. He stole the rest on a kiss: breathless, _yearning_ , every inch of him narrowed down into that one connection, and, God, Steve really did feel like one of those girls in a romance novel. He could _feel_ himself swooning as he kissed helplessly back—bent at the spine in an exaggerated bow, lips parting for the hungry swipe of Bucky’s tongue, entire body sparking alive, alive, alive as the trees swayed gently over them and somewhere nearby, one of the campers (Tony, probably) gave a piercing wolf whistle.

There were fireworks within and applause somewhere that felt very far away, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to care. Not when the whole world was opening wide at his feet. Not when he finally had that thing he wanted most.

Not, it turned out, when Bucky Barnes was kissing him like he never wanted to stop.


	12. Teddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incredible cover by redemsi! Please check out their work at redemsi.tumblr.com

“Hey,” Teddy said, forcing himself to pull away. It was hard—harder than he wanted to admit—especially when Billy was looking at him _like that_. All…warm and inviting, kiss-bruised lips parted and spit-slick, breath coming in unsteady pants.

He looked gorgeous. He looked welcoming. He looked like utter sin and temptation and yeah, no, Teddy needed to get some distance between them fast or he’d be sucked back into Billy’s orbit. Just sinking fast, fingers tangled in dark hair, hips working up up up in a steady rhythm, everything flashing hot and hard and—

And—

And, fuck, he really needed to concentrate.

“ _Hey_ ,” he said again with a husky laugh, catching at Billy’s wandering hands. His bare chest felt electrified, nipples tight and skin a rash of gooseflesh. It took everything Teddy had not to moan when Billy’s eyes dropped to his mouth again. “We should cool down for a bit.”

“Don’t want to cool down,” Billy mumbled. He was still half-sprawled beneath Teddy, thighs spread wide in obvious invitation. It wouldn’t take much to have them grinding against each other again, searching for those bright sparks of sensation that had them both gasping and arching in growing urgency. “I’m good like this. I’m _really_ good.”

He managed to slip a hand free, spanning his fingers across the tightening clench of Teddy’s abs. He could feel the trail of those nails raking skin like live wires, and his cock—trapped and straining against his jeans, hard enough it almost hurt to move away—was… Was… Well, he was too hard to think about it without losing what little composure he had left, fuck.

Teddy sucked in an unsteady breath and caught at Billy’s wandering hand again, lifting it to kiss his knuckles. He pulled back slowly, reluctantly, hating to leave the eager valley of Billy’s thighs and yet needing to put on the brakes. This was all so new and exciting: they had the entire summer to discover exactly where it would lead them.

Still, he couldn’t help but lean in and steal a kiss when Billy made a noise that was half groan, half dying seal. It made him grin against the quirk of Billy’s mouth. “Stop being so dramatic,” Teddy murmured, stealing just a little bit more—just a little bit deeper, tongue flickering in against Billy’s in a slick swirl of spit and heat—before pulling back again. Billy’s eyes had fallen closed, head tipped back and body arched in obvious want; it was painful, _painful_ to untangle himself and put a few feet of grass between them.

“If there’s one thing you’re going to have to learn about me, Teddy,” Billy said, turning his head to look at him. Those dark eyes were still blown-black, dilated wide, but he was beginning to grin. “It’s that I am _always_ dramatic.”

“Extra,” Teddy agreed easily. He sat back on his heels and fumbled for his shirt, tugging it on—and hiding the flashing grin behind tie-dyed cotton when Billy gave a long, exaggeratedly disappointed moan. “So very, very extra.”

Billy flapped a hand at him before pushing himself up. He had random twigs and leaves caught in his hair and against the sweat-slick gleam of his body. Teddy was tempted to reach out to brush them away, but, well… Touching Billy seemed dangerous right now. Being _near_ him was dangerous; Billy had a crazy sort of gravitational pull that made him just want to give himself over to him. “…with like three x’s,” Billy was saying. He dragged his fingers through his hair, making a face at the fall of leaves, then snagged his own t-shirt. Lithe muscles rippled when he pulled it on, and Teddy _viscerally_ understood that gut-punch of disappointment when all that skin was lost to sight again.

_Never mind, I take it back_ , he wanted to say. He wanted to push in close and capture Billy’s kiss-reddened mouth, wanted to lick in deep even as he slid his palms beneath the hem of his shirt. He wanted, he _wanted_ , and it was like a rising howl inside of him.

Instead of doing any of that, Teddy swallowed and stood on shaky legs. He waited until Billy was glancing away to reach down and adjust himself, and the bright spark of that one touch had him _trembling_ …but holding steady, at last.

This was the right choice. Going _slow_ was the right choice. They had all summer to unravel each other bit by bit, and they only had one first for everything. Teddy didn’t want to gobble all of those firsts up in one go—he wanted to savor them, to appreciate them, to… To _memorize_ them, because he’d had plenty of crushes in his life, but Billy was the first boy to ever make him feel like this.

Behind him, Billy cleared his throat, leaves rustling as he stood. Teddy turned back to him just in time to catch him adjusting the fit of his own jeans, and _holy God_ it was hard to remember all those very good reasons he wanted to pump the brakes when Billy was standing there looking hot as sin.

He cleared his own throat, forcing his gaze to lift and stay locked on Billy’s face. “We should,” he began, but his voice kept wanting to break over the words. Teddy coughed into his fist and tried again, “We should head out. See what everyone else is up to.”

“We should definitely go back to making out,” Billy countered, but he was grinning as he gave in and spun on his heel, moving slowly away as if he needed to get moving before he did something neither of them would particularly regret. “But I guess seeing what everyone is up to is a good plan B.”

“Yeah,” Teddy said, watching Billy stride off with enviable self-confidence. Then, “Hey, uh, where are you going?”

Billy spun around on his heel, taking a few blind steps backwards. His brows were knit in a question. “To…go try that plan B?” he said.

Teddy jerked a thumb over his shoulder—in the opposite direction Billy was headed. “We should probably try heading _toward_ the camp, then,” he said. “The only thing out that way is more trees and, I dunno, hockey mask-wearing serial killers or something.”

“Oh.” Billy paused, then laughed. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I held on to my virginity, then,” he said, jogging the few steps to rejoin Teddy. They fell into step together, Teddy leading the way through the forest—this time, going in the right direction. “If there’s a teen slasher afoot, I want all the advantages I can get.”

Their hands maybe-almost-accidentally brushed as they walked, sending a shiver of electricity up Teddy’s spine. It seemed ridiculous to be nervous considering what they had just been doing for the last quarter-hour or so, but still, Teddy felt all too shy as he flexed his fingers and turned his hand to let their palms slot together. The shiver of relief when Billy instantly tangled their fingers was palpable. “Yeah, I don’t know if that’s going to help you,” Teddy said, nearly dizzy with the simple pleasure of it. “If anything, you’re definitely the smart-mouthed nerd.”

“Hey, I resemble that remark.” Billy squeezed his hand, grinning, and this was almost (almost) better than before. Yes, Teddy loved digging his fingers into dark snarls of hair and kissing and kissing and _kissing_ in the quiet of that glade, but there was something almost transcendent about the simplicity of this moment. The shifting gold sunlight dappled through the trees. The sound of distant laughter, growing louder and louder with each step. Birdcall and a breeze and Billy’s hand tight in his.

A moment of connection. A spark. A promise of so much more to come, a thousand times deeper than any summer hookup because there was history already there between them, and the foundation for something bigger.

Teddy swallowed and tugged Billy a step closer, until their sides bumped together. It was all so natural, it was as if they’d never _not_ been here.

Billy must have felt it too, because he was quiet for the next few minutes, just letting the moment settle. Just letting it _be_. But he wouldn’t be Billy if he were completely comfortable with silence, so eventually he added, curious, “So which are you, then?”

“Hmm?” Teddy had gotten distracted by the realization that he could still taste Billy on his tongue; every time he licked his bottom lip, he was flooded with sense-memory.

“Teen slasher classics. If I’m the mouthy nerd, then who are you?” He squinted at Teddy thoughtfully. “If you’d asked me that a few weeks ago, you know, I would have said _the jock_ , but now…”

Teddy smiled, something warm unfolding inside of him. “But now you know better,” he said, meaning: _but now you see me better._ There was a part of Teddy that wanted to shrink back from that thought and its implications. Billy had confessed that he liked him—shouted it right into his startled face on that final day of school—back when he’d seen him that other way. Seen him as the hot jock, the popular kid, the friendly class president: or whatever other easy stereotype he wanted to reach for. Now that he was seeing all the other, more complicated and far more important angles that made up the core of who Teddy was, would he still feel the same way?

_Hush_ , Teddy told that quiet doubt, and forced himself to say simply, “Maybe it sounds full of myself, but I always saw me as the _final girl._ ”

He wouldn’t let himself hold his breath or anything so dramatic after that. He definitely wouldn’t let himself let go of Billy’s hand so he could stuff his own into his pockets and hide the pale green bracelet he agonized over every year—wondering if _now_ was the time he’d know for sure. If _this_ was the summer the questions would find their answers and all the pieces clicked into place.

( _You’re not a puzzle that needs solving, Teddy_ , Steve liked to say—but that was easy for Steve, wasn’t it, when self-confidence came as easy as breathing sometimes didn’t. When self-awareness, maybe, came even easier.)

Billy cocked his head, looking up at him. He had to squint a little against the sunshine, the forest canopy now mostly given way to brilliant swaths of summer blue. Teddy tried not to be in agony as he waited for whatever Billy had to say, telling himself it would be all right if Billy said all the wrong things. He was new to this. They both were. It was okay.

He was okay.

“Yeah,” Billy finally said, considering.  Not at all weirded out or judgmental. Normal, like this was such an obvious thing—an obvious part of Teddy—that he didn’t even question it. “That seems right.”

_That seems right._

Teddy squeezed his fingers just shy of too tight and, startled, Billy squeezed back. He clearly had no idea how much had rested on that one moment—teetering there between them, weighted—and that just made it all feel _better_. Because the response hadn’t been calculated or designed or planned or, or anything. It had been _real_. Honest. And it felt _good_.

“I’m really glad you came to camp, Billy,” Teddy said, tugging him to a stop. They were near the main path now, very close to the half-moon drive and the admin buildings. Only a few trees stood between them and anyone strolling by, but, well, who would _care_ if they caught them here? Wasn’t that the whole point of Camp True Colors? Being able to hold your new boyfriend’s hand, or reach up to brush your knuckles along his jaw, or shiver at the way he instantly tipped up his face and all of it, all of this, without any fear of judgment?

Just the simple act of leaning down as Billy tipped up and, _oh_ , lips moving together in the softest of touches. A breath shared. A moment sealed in amber; Teddy knew he would remember this feeling until he died.

_I think I could grow to love you_ , he thought, and shivered, and let the kiss deepen just a touch…only to pull back with a start when, just past the next bend in the path, came the sudden clap of thunderous applause. It was loud, interspersed with laughing cheers and wolf whistles—Tony’s all-too-recognizable catcall rising high above them all.

Billy blinked owlishly up at him as he rocked back down onto his heels. “That’s…not for us, right?” he asked.

“I don’t think—” Teddy half-turned, trying to place the source of all that noise. There was a part of him that almost accepted it as a part of this heightened moment of reality: like they were in a movie, fireworks and cheers erupting at the simple brush of their mouths. But no, the noise was coming from just a little ways away, and it _wasn’t_ aimed at them.

…it still felt terribly cinematic, though.

“Come on,” Teddy said, taking Billy’s hand again. He tugged him forward, past the last line of trees and underbrush and out onto the path. There were kids in tie-dyed shirts jogging toward the open field in front of the admin buildings, laughing and shoving at each other like it was the last day of school all over again. Teddy spotted Kate through the crowd, her heart-shaped purple sunglasses up on her head, glossy dark hair pulled back in a simple braid. Clint had an arm around her neck and was saying something, eyes rolling expressively despite the grin on his face.

“There,” Teddy said, pointing. The crowd was growing by the minute, curious onlookers drawn to…whatever it was that had started this mess in the first place. Teddy tugged at Billy’s hand, leading him into the middle of the hubbub. He headed toward Kate and Clint, vaguely aware of Tony (perched up on Thor’s shoulders like he was preparing for an epic game of chicken fight, hands cupped around his mouth for another loud, trilling catcall) in the near distance. Other Avengers and Young Avengers were milling about too, some looking amused, some elated, some pretending to gag.

Teddy squeezed Billy’s fingers and came up alongside Kate. “Hey,” he said, a little breathless from weaving his way through the crowd.

She looked over, then _very_ deliberately dropped her sunglasses down onto her face just so she could push them low on her nose to peer over them suggestively, eyes dropping to Teddy and Billy’s linked hands. “Hey yourself,” Kate drawled.

Teddy felt his cheeks pink, but he didn’t let go. “Do you know what’s going on?”

Clint leaned over her, dimple flashing. “This is Katie,” he pointed out playfully. “She _always_ knows what’s going on.”

“Hush,” Kate said, lightly thwapping the older boy on the nose. She smirked when he grumbled and rubbed at his face. “It’s Cap and Bucky.”

“Bucky and who-now?” Billy’s elbow bumped against Teddy’s as he crowded closer, pushed in by the truly out-of-control crowd. Kids of all shapes and colors and sizes were milling about, some in camp t-shirts, other in swim gear: a veritable rainbow of goodwill. They were laughing and clapping and pointing to something (Cap and Bucky? What on earth was going on with _them_?) at the eye of the storm, and something about the good-natured cheering couldn’t help but put a grin on Teddy’s face.

“Cap,” Katie said.

“ _Captain America_ finally got his man,” Clint added with a playful waggle of his brows, and as if on cue, there was a small, brief break in the crowd.

It wasn’t much—just a few kids shifting around, getting out of a playfully scolding Natasha’s way. But it was enough for Teddy and Billy to spot the red-faced couple at the core of all this mayhem. Bucky stood there with his dark hair tangled in his face, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His shoulders were almost up to his ears and he looked like steam was about to come rising off the top of his head…but he was scuffing a combat boot in the dirt and smiling a little, too, casting quick glances toward Steve as if he couldn’t help himself.

Steve, for his part, was waving off the crowd with a bashful laugh, standing _dangerously_ close to his best friend. Their bodies were tipped toward each other, as if drawn by magnets, and Teddy could have sworn they looked exactly how he felt: thrilled down to their toes by the start of something new.

_Oh_ , he thought, understanding the teasing cheers now. The whole camp had been watching Steve and Bucky’s painfully slow mating dance for enough years that it was a shock that a _parade_ hadn’t broken out at the first sign of that infamous UST breaking. _Well that explains a lot._

“ _Oooh_ ,” Billy said, catching up. “Bucky and _Steve_.” Then he paused and glanced over at Kate and Clint. “Wait, are we supposed to be surprised that they’re totally stupid over each other?”

Kate blinked, and Clint snorted a laugh, hiding his face in her hair. Even Teddy had to laugh, dropping Billy’s hand so he could wrap an arm around him, tugging him close. It felt so natural, so right, to pull him against the curve of his body and kiss his temple in front of anyone who wanted to see. Affection blooming deep in his belly, and his heart pounding in simple homecoming.

Before summer began, would he ever have believed he’d be standing here, so stupidly happy he couldn’t stand it?

“Nope,” Teddy said, answering both Billy and himself. He caught movement out of the corner of his eyes as Tony stuck his fingers into his mouth and gave a trilling whistle—and Bucky, visibly cursing, yanked his hands out of his pockets only to grab Steve by the (bright red) ears and drag him in for another showy kiss. Back bowed, dipped low, like a soldier come home from war as all of Camp True Colors lost its ever-loving mind cheering for the wonderful inevitability of their love. “Not even a little.”

Then, tilting his own head—thrilling at the way Billy was already lifting his face in response as if he’d just been _waiting_ for Teddy to make his move—he caught Billy’s mouth in a happy, grinning kiss: lost in the middle of a rainbow of color, feeling happy and whole in his skin…ready for the best summer of their lives.


End file.
